THE  ROBERT   E.  COWAN  COLLECT! 


•RESENTED    TO   Till 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

BV 

C.  P.  HUNTINGTON 

dUNE.   18Q7. 

Accession  N,    7 0  30$      Class  No, 


?S*» 


I 


^*5^z/  .if mv^j,.^^ 

EARLY.  OlLiFORNiA; 


A    DRAMA, 


I1ST 


WILLIAM    BAUSMAN 


Period,  1855. 


S  A  X     F  H  AN  C  I  S  C  O 

1872. 


JC  3d 

Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1872, 

By  WILLIAM  BAUSMAN, 
In  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington. 


OPINIONS  OF  THE  PEESS. 

_  M 

We  have  to  congratulate  Mr.  Bailsman  upon  the  success  of  his  drama  of 
**  Early  California."  It  was  produced  to  one  of  the  largest  and  most  intelligent 
audiences  ever  seen  in  a  San  Francisco  theater,  and  received  with  a  degree  of 
favor  'flattering  to  the  author.  It  was  put  on  the  stage  in  very  good  style. 
Much  of  the  scenery  is  elective.  * 

As  a  picture  of  California  life  in  the  early  days,  it  is  generally  accurate.  We 
know  of  no  one,  not  even  Bret  Harte,  who  has  more  faithfully  depicted  the 
wild  life  of  the  mining  camp,  than  Mr.  Bausman.  The  scene  of  the  examina 
tion  on  the  accusation  for  murder,  and  that  of  the  lynching,  were  admirably 
well  done.  Indeed  the  third  and  fourth  acts  —  altogether  the  best  in  the  play  — 
have  been  worked  up  with  scrupulous  art  and  conscientious  fidelity  to  life. 
The  piece,  as  before  remarked,  ranks  high  as  a  literary  production.  There  are 
passages  of  great  power  and  beauty  —  for  instance,  the  apostrophe  to  the  Pen, 
in  the  opening  scene;  touches  of  genuine  humor  and  flashes  of  wit.  The 
dialogues  are  generally  lively  and  sometimes  brilliant.  —  £an  Francisco  Bulletin, 
Feb.  15,  1872. 

Mr.  Bausman's  maiden  drama,  in  five  acts,  entitled  "Early  California," 
which  was  played  at  this  theater  last  night  for  the  first  time,  possesses  decided 
literary  and  dramatic  merit.  Following  so  quickly  on  the  unusually  meritorious 
drama  of  the  Red  Pocket  Book,  any  production,  whether  domestic  or  foreign, 
must  undergo  the  crucial  test  of  severe  comparison  on  the  same  stage.  The 
fact,  therefore,  that  Mr.  Bausman's  play  was  witnessed  on  its  first  representa 
tion  by  a  crowded  audience  who  repeatedly  expressed  their  satisfaction  in  loud 
applause,  is  the  best  evidence  that  can  be  furnished  of  its  excellence.  *  *  "* 
At  the  close  of  the  performance  Mr.  Bausman,  being  loudly  called  for,  addressed 
the  audience  from  the  front  of  the  dress  circle,  thanking  all  present  for  the 
flattering  reception  they  had  given  to  his  maiden  dramatic  effort,  and  express 
ing  a  hope  that  at  some  future  time  he  might  produce  something  more  deserv 
ing  of  their  approval.-  -A  Zta,  Feb,  15. 

Mr.  Bausman's  new  play,  entitled  "Early  California,"  was  produced  last 
evening  at  the  Metropolitan,  to  such  an  audience  as  the  most  brilliant  opera 
night  could  never  excel.  It  was  an  audience  capable  of  fair  and  judicious 
criticism—  whose  dictum,  favorable  or  otherwise,  an  author  would  be  bound  to 
respect.  But  the  decision  was  such  a  one  as  Mr.  Bausman,  we  feel  sure,  will 
not  or\ly  respect  but  honor.  It  was  decidedly  favorable.  "  Early  California," 
is  really  a  tale  of  early  California.  It  is  well  written  and  arranged,  and  has 
that  much  literary  merit  about  it,  that  though  there  are  no  railroad  accidents, 
scalping  soirees  or  violent  explosions,  save  in  the  denouement,  the  interest  is 
well  preserved  and  led  up  to  the  finale  from  the  very  first  scene.  It  is  also 
singularly  devoid  of  that  namby-pamby  stuff  which  most  playwrights  are  wont 
to  put  into  the  mouths  of  their  young  lady  and  gentlemen  characters.  There 
are  also  some  original  ideas  expressed  in  the  bright  and  rapid  dialogue,  which 
have  the  true  ring  of  manhood  about  them.  But  the  play  is,  throughout,  one 
of  the  most  original  performances  we  have  ever  had  presented.  ***** 
"  Early  California"  is  assuredly  a  success,  and  we  are  glad  of  it,  not  only  for 
its  author's  sake,  but  because  we  wish  to  see  one  play,  of  home  manufacture  , 
of  which  we  can  be  justly  proud.—  Examiner,  Feb.  15. 


4  OPINIONS  OF  THE  TRESS. 

Quite  a  number  of  plays  have  teen  written  and  represented  in  this  city,  pur 
porting  to  delineate  Calif oruia  life,  but  so  far  as  the  characters  and  incidents  of 
most  of  them  are  concerned,  their  scenes  might  nearly  as  well  have  been  laid  in 
almost  any  other  country,  the  only  peculiarities  to  render  them  consistent  with 
what  they  were  announced  to  be,  consisting  of  a  few  local  allusions  and  the 
scenery  with  which  they  were  illustrated.  The  new  drama  of  "Early  Cali 
fornia,"  however,  from  the  pen  of  Mr.  Bausman,  produced  at  the  theater  last 
evening,  is  essentially  of  a  different  character  from  the  class  alluded  to,  and  is 
deserving  of  special  praise,  in  many  respects,  as  being  not  only  a  literary  pro 
duction  of  more  than  ordinary  merit,  but  a  dramatic  story  with  the  scenes, 
incidents  and  personages  essentially  Californian,  it  being  evident  that  the 
author  is  fully  conversant  with  what  he  describes,  and  is  capable  of  depicting 
the  elegant  and  refined,  as  well  as  the  coarser  elements  ot  the  manners  and 
peculiarities  of  the  people  of  the  pioneer  days  in  th^  Golden  State.  The  author 
has  shown  his  taste  and  versatility,  in  addition  to  his  correct  knowledge  and 
appreciation  of  his  subject,  by  a  number  of  thoughtful  and  elegant  passages, 
intermingled  here  and  there  with  the  necessarily  ordinary  dialogue  that  enters 
into  the  construction  of  his  play,  and  he  has  in  a  remarkable  degree  avoided  the 
prosy  verbiage  with  which  the  efforts  of  novices  are  usually  encumbered.  The 
language  is  generally  suited  to  the  characters  to  which  it  is  attributed,  and 
contains  nothing,  even  in  the  occasional  sla.ng  unavoidable,  that  appeals  disa- 
agreeably  to  the  taste  and  interest  of  a  refined  audience. — Morning  C'all,  Ftb.  15. 

At  the-Metropolitan  we  have  to  chronicle  a  real  success,  all  the  more  pleasing 
that  the  piece  is  written  by  a  pretty  good  boy,  Billy  Bausman,  "one  of  our 
selves."  There  are  individual  scenes  in  early  California  worthy  of  the  hand  of 
a  practiced  dramatist,  and  the  plot  is  quite  up  to  the  average.  Whatever 
faults  it  may  have,  it  is  a  true  picture  of  life  on  this  coast  in  the  good  old  times, 
while  several  of  the  characters  are  individually  excellent.  The  Court  in  the 
bar-room  is,  of  itself,  a  capital  scene.  The  piece  has  been  well  mounted,  and 
Mr.  Bert  deserves  the  success  he  has  earned,  and  deserved  for  the  production  of 
a  home-made  novelty.—  News  Letter,  Feb.  17. 

"  Early  California,"  the  local  play  written  by  Mr.  Bausman,  which  has  run 
successfully  for  the  past  week  against  all  attractions  elsewhere,  arid  even  a  little 
bad  weather  thrown  in,  will  be  given  at  the  "matinee"  to-day  and  in  the  even 
ing,  and  then  will,  probably,  be  withdrawn,  though  the  management  might 


nians;"  even  at  this  day  they  have  their  counterparts  in  other  new  mining 
countries  on  the  coast.  "  Early  California  "  has  brought  into  notice  a  rich  lead 
to  be  worked  by  dramatists,  and  is  suggestive  of  some  startling  sensations. -- 
AUa,  Feb.  22. 

"  Early  California  "  has  proved  a  winning  card,  drawing  the  largest  houses 
of  the  season,  and  continues  to  pan  out  handsomely.  It  is  on  the  bills  for  this 
evening,  and  will  be  run  a  few  nights  longer.  But  those  who  want  to  see  it — 
and  every  old  Californian  ought  to  see  it,  as  well  as  those  who  know  <^f  the 
early  days  only  by  tradition,  ought  to  witness  the  graphic  picture  of  the  flush 
times  portrayed  by  one  who  has  oeen  there  and  can  faithfully  reproduce  the 
most  startling  drama  in  real  life  of  this  era — should  not  fail  to  secure  seats 
early.—  Post,  Feb.  19. 

Mr.  Bausman's  local  drama,  entitled  "  Early  California,"  has  had  an  almost 
unprecedented  run,  having  kept  its  place  on  the  Metropolitan  boards  four 
teen  consecutive  representations— always  drawing  full  houses  when  the  we-ither 
would  admit.  This  is  encouraging  to  the  author  and  creditable  to  home  talent, 
which  can  produce  a  drama  that  contains  merit  and  receives  the  applause  of  the 
most  discriminating  audiences  in  the  world.  "  Early  California  "  is  infinitely 
superior  to  most  of  the  trashy  sensational  plays  that  have  been  brought  to  this 
city  from  the  East,  and  will  be  more  popular  abroad  than  at  home,  on  account 
of  its  faithful  portraiture  of  pioneer  California  history.  May  it  prove  a  fortune 
to  its  author. — Examiner,  Feb.  24. 


OPINIONS  OF  THE  PRESS.  5 

For  two  weeks  "  Early  California  "  has  held  the  boards' at  this  house  to  a 
good  paying-  business,  showing-  that,  notwithstanding  the  circumstances  under 
which  it  was  produced,  the  drama  possessed  sufficient  intrinsic  merit  to  gain  a 
strong  holl  on  the  public.  All  honor  to  Mr.  Bailsman  for  his  contribution  to 
our  local  dramatic  literature.— Chronicle,  Feb.  24. 

Bailsman's  play,  "  Early  California,"  held  the  boards  at  the  Metropolitan 
for  ten  nights.  Considering  the  limited  theater-going  population  of  this  city, 
this  is  a  grand  success -the  more  noteworthy,  when  if,  is  remembered  that  the 
Metropolitan,  being  closed  so  long,  has  grown  somewhat  out  of  fashion,  and 
that  Wheatleigh,  always  a  great  favorite  on  this  coast,  was  playing  at  the 
California.  A  run  of  ten  nights  is  in  fact  equivalent  to  a  run  of  two  hundred 
in  New  York.  We  rejoice  at  this  success,  not  merely  because  it  has  been  won 
by  one  of  the  most  deserving  and  hard  working  gentlemen  of  the  editorial  pro 
fession,  but  because  it  shows  that  California  audiences  can  appreciate  a  good 
play  by  a  California  author.  "  Early  California  "  ought  to  be  brought  out  in 
the  East;  it  would  take  there.  In  'the  meantime  we  congratulate  "Mr.  Baus- 
miUL.—  Poft,  Feb.  27. 

Mr.  Proctor  has  undoubtedly  made  another  hit  with  Bailsman's  play  of 
"Early  California,"  Last  evening  it  was  introduced  to  an  excellent  house, 
and  the  audience  was  enthusiastic  in  its  expressions  of  commendation.  The 
play  of  itself  possesses  considerable  merit.  One  of  the  virtues  of  the  play  is 
that  the  dialogues  are  crisp  and  lively,  and  the  scenes  short.  It  contains  many 
natural  situations,  and  is  quite  a  correct  picture  of  old  times  in  California. — 
California  Kccord,  March  7. 

Bausman's  "  Early  California"  is  still  running1,  and  already  achieved  the 
greatest  success  of  the  season  at  this  house.—  Post,  Feb.  22. 

Mr.  Bausman's  local  drama  of  "Early  California,"  has  had  an  almost  un 
precedented  run,  having  kept  its  place  on  the  Metropolitan  boards  for  fourteen 
consecutive  representations,  always  drawing  full  houses  when  the  weather 
would  admit. — Post,  Ftb.  28. 

-Mr.  Bausman's  meritorious  local  sensational  drama  continues  to  draw  at 
this  house.  Its  clever  dialogue,  sharp  pictures  of  mining  scenes  and  incidents, 
well-marked  characters—"  Missouri  Bill,"  "  Tim  O'Donnell''  and  "  Uncle 
Charley,"  in  particular — drew  amused  audiences  nightly. — Bulletin,  Feb.  21. 

Mr.  Bausman's  local  drama  of  "Early  California"  has  met  with  a  very 
decided  success  at  the  hands  of  the  public.  Produced  before  a  large  and  critical 
audience,  it  has  held  the  boards  for  thirteen  nights,  and  could  have  been  con 
tinued  if  other  engagements  had  permitted.  ******* 
The  literary  merits  of  the  play  began  to  appear  when  the  actors  became  familiar 
with  the  author's  language.  The  many  sensational  scenes  were  well  played. 
—Golden  Era,  Feb.  26. 

A  large  and  fashion  able  audience  was  in  attendance  at  this  house  last  night, 
on  which  occasion  Bausman's  new  play,  entitled  "  Early  California,"  was  pro 
duced  for  the  first  time  in  this  city.  The  piece  was  placed  on  the  stage  in  a 
superior  manner,  and  for  a  first  performance  was  creditable  alike  to  author, 
performers,  artists  and  machinists.  *  *  *  * 

"Early  California"   is  a  good  play,  superior  to  the  Red  Pocket  Book,  and  is 
deserving  of  a  long  and  successful  run. — Sacramento  Reporter,  March  7. 

The  new  play,  by  Bausman,  was  produced  last  night  by  Proctor.  The  name 
suggests  that  the  play  would  be,  as  it  is,  sensational;  and  the  plot  is  sufficient 
to  introduce  representations  of  the  most  exciting  scenes  in  early  California  life. 
The  long  run  it  had  at  San  Francisco,  and  the  very  full  house  which  witnessed 
its  advent  here  and  which  will,  doubtless,  be  often  repeated,  attest  its  success. 
— Sacramento  Bee,  Marck  7. 

11  Early  California  "  proves  to  be  a  great  success,  and  improves  on  acquaint 
ance.  There  was  another  large  and  fashionable  audience  present  last  night, 


D  OPINIONS  OF  THE  PRESS. 

and  the  piece  went  off  splendidly.  The  beautiful  scenery  of  the  drama  was  the 
subject  of  much  commendation,  particularly  that  portion  of  the  fourth  act  de 
lineating  the  mining  operations  of  former  days.  Everybody  should  see  "  Early 
California.'' — Sacramento  Reporter,  March  8. 

"  Early  California  "  at  each  successive  representation  increases  in  attract' 
iveness.  An  immense  house  witnessed  it  last  night  and  again  this  afternoon. 
To-night  is  the  last  announced  representation,  but  there  are  so  many  still 
anxious  to  see  it  or  see  it  over  again,  that  the  management  may  be  compelled 
to  reproduce  it  next  week.— Sacramento  Bee,  March  9. 

The  drama  of  "  Early  California,"  on  its  production  last  evening,  was  much 
better  performed  than  on  Wednesday  night,  and  was  received  with  great  favor 
by  the  audience.  There  is  much  in  it  that  appeals  to  the  sympathies  and  recol 
lections  of  the  California  public,  and  therefore  it  will  continue  to  draw  good 
houses  for  many  nights.  The  attendance  last  night  was  very  large. — Sacra- 
ynento  Union,  March  8. 

The  attendance  at  this  house,  Saturday  afternoon  and  evening,  was  large 
and  fashionable.  The  play  of  "Early  California"  seems  to  have  taken  the 
people  by  storm,  and  certainly  is  a  praiseworthy  production,  reflecting  the 
highest  credit  on  manager  Proctor,  for  the  very  liberal  manner  in  which  he  has 
placed  it  on  the  stage.  It  will  be  performed  for  the  last  time  this  (Sunday) 
evening,  and  all  those  who  have  not  seen  it  should  attend. — Saeramcnto 
Reporter,  March  10. 

Manager  Proctor  has  made  Bailsman's  drama  of  "  Early  California "  a 
grand  success  at  the  Metropolitan.  The  house  is  crowded  every  evening.  It  is 
put  upon  the  stage  with  taste  and  liberality,  while  the  cast  of  characters  is 
excellent,  and  the  parts  well  sustained.— Sacramento  Free  Press,  March  9. 

At  the  Metropolitan,  "  Early  California  "  has  proved  a  winning  card,  and 
has  filled  the  house  nightly  since  it  was  produced.  It  is  highly  sensational, 
and  many  of  the  characters  drawn  to  the  life. — £,  F.  far,  Virginia  J£nterprsft 
Feb.  16, 


CAST    OF    CHARACTERS. 


The  Drama  of  EARLY  CALIFORNIA  was  produced  at  the  Metropolitan 
Theater,  San  Franciaco,  under  the  management  of  MR.  E.  G.  BERT,  on  the 
night  of  the  14th  February,  1872.  and  had  a  run  of  sixteen  successive  repre 
sentations.  Following  was  the  cast  of  characters  : 

ERRANT MR.  JAMES  M.  HARDIE. 

MISSOURI  BILL MR.  JOHN  WOODARD. 

COATES MR.  PIERPONT  THAYER. 

MANGEL  GARCIA MR.  HARRY  COLTON. 

UNCLE  CHARLEY MR.  J.  H.  VINSON. 

MR.  MILTON MR.  J.  H.  McCABE. 

JEFF MIKS  MAGGIE  MOORE. 

TRIPPLETOPPER MR.  WILLIE  SIMMS. 

DR.  AMHEBST MR.  R.  BELMOUR, 

TIM  O'DONNELL MR.  T.  E.  JACKSON. 

MIKE MR.  E.  KELLY. 

PRESTON MR.  J.  CROWELL. 

MB.  JONES MR.  L.  HAVEN. 

STEVE  RIPPLES MR.  GEO.  HINCKLEY. 

BUCKLETONGUE MR.  ORVILLE  WILSON. 

MATE  OF  THE  STEAMER MR.  J.  WALTERS. 

CARLOTTA Miss  HENRIETTA  OSBORNE. 

MRS.  GRUBBS MRS.  FRANK  RAE. 

MAGGIE.  . . ,  ...  Miss  ADA  DBA  YES. 


EARLY   CALIFORNIA. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  FIKST — An  Editor's  office,  well  furnished,  with  carpel. 

ERRANT.  (Discovered  at  editorial  desk.}  Another  contribution  to 
the  greedy  maw  of  public  expectation.  (Advances  to  footlights,  and 
holds  up  pen.}  Ah,  thou  little  implement,  how  much  of  undeserved 
reputation  hast  thou  blazoned  !  How  many  noble  thoughts  depicted ! 
How  many  philosophical  reflections  embodied.  The  tomes  of  his 
tory  are  thy  biography !  Without  thee  tradition  perishes.  The 
troubadors  who  despised  thee  are  extjnct,  and  their  improvised 
sonnets  forgotten.  With  thy  aid,  the  epics  and  heroics  of  the  dead 
poets  still  survive  to  crown  their  names  with  immortality  !  "  The 
pen,"  saith  the  dramatist,  "  is  mightier  than  the  sword  ;"  and  the 
dramatist  has  said  truly.  It  is  the  architect  of  mind  that  molds  its 
language  into  form,  and  frescoes  it  with  the  word-limning  of  the 
scholar.  It  rescues,  preserves,  transmits  and  fixes  its  subject  like 
the  granite  base,  for  the  building  of  a  structure  of  fame.  It  stim 
ulates  the  prosperity  of  States,  and  secures  the  triumph  of  diplomacy. 
Heroes  depend  upon  it  for  their  ovations.  To  literature  it  is  the 
galleon,  with  flowing  sails — freighted  with  intellectual  treasures. 
The  down-hearted  take  courage  from  the  fearlessness  of  its  stric 
tures,  and  tyrants  tremble  at  its  power.  This  is  thy  eulogy,  my 
companion,  and  my  friend.  Plucked  though  thou  be  from  an  igno 
ble  wing,  the  Damacus  steel  can  make  no  deeper  or  surer  incision. 
The  sword  has  no  such  panegyric.  The  phrase,  "  It  destroys," 
is  at  once  its  history  and  its  epitaph — and  for  the  record  of  even 
this  brief  sentence,  it  is  indebted  to  thee.  Yes,  thou  art  much 
greater  than  the  sword  ;  and  so  let  the  thesis  and  the  antithesis 
of  thy  measurement  go  together.  (A  rap  at  door.}  Come  in.  No 
need  of  ceremony  here. 

MR.  MILTON.     Is  this  the  editorial  office? 

ERRANT.     It  is.     Be  seated.     Can  I  serve  you  ? 

MR.  Mu/roN.  My  business  is  with  the  editor.  You  are  not,  I 
perceive,  that  gentleman. 

ERRANT.  No,  the  editor  will  be  absent  to  a  late  hour  of  the 
night. 

MR.  MiLTON.     And  how  long  will  his  duties  then  continue  ? 

ERRANT.  Bless  you,  sir;  ask,  rather,  when  will  they  end.  The 
quarry-slave  has  moments  of  recreation ;  the  factory  operative  a 
time  to  retire  from  his  loom ;  the  cart-horse  is  relieved  of  his  har- 


10  EARLY   CALIFORNIA. 

ness  afc  night-fall ;  but  the  newspaper-man  has  no  respite.  His 
duties  are  arduous  and  never-ending. 

MR.  MILTON.  In  an  affair  of  business  I  suppose  you  could  rep 
resent  Mr.  Quod  ? 

ERRANT.     Yes,  if  it  is  not  strictly  personal. 

MR.  MILTON.  You  are  connected  with  the  office,  then?  How 
may  I  class  you  ? 

ERRANT.     I  am  a  city  reporter. 

MR.  MILTON.     And  what  is  the  line  of  your  duties  ? 

ERRANT.  That  phrase  is  too  conventional.  A  reporter  has  no 
line.  Like  the  comet,  he  is  eccentric.  His  orbit  is  all  across  the 
intellectual  sky,  and  he  has  a  brilliancy  entirely  his  own.  His  in 
dependence  is  so  well  assured,  that  he  regards  neither  Papal  bull 
nor  Imperial  rescript.  He  is,  in  a  sense,  ubiquitous — "  here,  there, 
everywhere' ' — to-day  taking  notes  of  a  suit  at  law  ;  to-morrow 
writing  letters  from  the  capital — next  day  gathering  information 
in  the  mines — always  employed,  sketching,  gleaning  and  ampli 
fying. 

MR.  MILTON.     And  the  editor  ? 

ERRANT.  He  is  the  throttle-valve  to  the  machine,  that  regulates 
its  pressure  of  steam  ;  a  mere  constructor  of  dreamy  vaporings, 
called  "leaders,"  which  nobody  cares  for,  and  but  few  read.  He 
is  used  by  the  politicians  as  a  ladder,  to  climb  into  office,  and  when 
they  are  done  with  him,  they  kick  him  over,  in  gratitude  for  his 
favors.  But  your  business,  sir  ?  Now  to  attend  to  that. 

MR.  MILTON.  Hei-e,  sir,  is  a  small  box,  containing  deeds  and 
other  valuable  papers.  I  am  something  of  a  stranger  in  the  city, 
but  well  acquainted  with  Mr.  Quod.  Into  his  hands  I  knew  I 
could  entrust  it  for  safe  keeping.  My  business  h-as  been  interrupted 
by  a  note  received  only  an  hour  ago,  which  summons  me  immedi 
ately  back  to  the  mountains.  I  expected  my  wife  and  daughter  to 
arrive  on  the  steamer,  but  they  have  not  come.  I  must  leave  on. 
the  afternoon  boat,  and  there  is  no  time  left  to  seek  a  different  place 
of  deposit  for  the  box  if  I  desired  to.  I  will  trouble  you,  if  you 
please,  to  take  charge  of  it  in  the  absence  of  Mr.  Quod.  Say  to 
him  that  I  expect  to  return  to  the  city  in  a  short  time,  and  will 
then  relieve  him  of  its  care. 

ERRANT.  Rely  upon  my  fidelity,  and  rest  assured  your  confi 
dence  shall  not  be  betrayed.  Come  with  me — it  is  but  a  step — and 
see  where  the  box  is  bestowed. 

SCENE    SECOND.— A  street— (Enter    Dr.    Amherst    and    Tim 
O'DonneU.) 

DR.  AMHERST.  I  tell  you,  I've  nothing  for  you  to  do  unless 
you  can  play. 

TIM.  Play,  is  it?  Be  jabers  that's  just  to  my  hand,  when  the 
hand's  a  good  'un.  When  I  was  in  practice,  divil  a  one  of  thiin 
could  bate  me,  from  Slippery  Mike  to  the  ould  man  that  tossed  the 
coppers  at  Kerry. 


EARLY   CALIFORNIA.  11 

DR.  AMIIERST.  But,  my  good  man,  the  parts  in  a  theatre  are 
not  performed  with  cards.  They  are  dramatic. 

TIM.  The  mattock,  or  the  shovel,  aither.  It's  all  the  same,  as 
I'm  aiqually  good  at  both. 

DR.  AMIIEKST.  You  don't  seem  to  understand.  Have  you  ever 
been  on  the  stage  ? 

TIM.  Av  coorse  I  have  \  inside  and  on  the  boot.  Be  gorra,  for 
the  matter  o'  that,  I've  worn  the  livery,  too,  wid  a  cape  and  brass 
buttons  on  my  coat. 

DR.  AMIIERST.  No,  no ;  not  that.  Have  you  ever  done  any 
thing  in  a  theatre  ? 

TIM.     To  be  sure ;  I  helped  to  bate  the  carpets. 

DR.  AMHERST.  Call  at  the  box-office  and  ask  for  employment. 
Maybe  you  can  get  occupation  as  a  supe. 

TIM.  Divil  take  your  soups.  I  can  buy  my  own  bread  and  per- 
taters. 

DR.  AMIIERST.  There's  no  use  parleying  farther.  You  will 
not  suit. 

TIM.     How  do  you  know  that,  until  you  try  me  ? 

DR.  AMIIERST.  You  must  excuse  me  now.  I  see  a  friend  coming 
with  whom  I  have  a  little  business.  Good  day. 

TIM.  Good  day  to,  yez.  (Aside.}  Yer  a  gintleman,  onyhoW — 
in  yer  own  concait,  but  I've  seed  yer  batters.  G-ood  day  to  vez. 
(Exit.} 

(Enter  Mr.  Milton.} 

DR.  AMIIERST.  Ah,  Mr.  Milton,  I'm  glad  to  meet  you  again. 
I  want  more  explicit  instructions  about  the  mansion.  It  is  to  be 
suitable  for  your  wife  and  daughter  ? — the  house  to  be  purchased  in 
the  name  of  the  latter,  and  well  furnished  throughout  ? 

MR.  MILTON.  That  is  my  wish.  The  sum  I  gave  you — is  it 
sufficient  ? 

DR.  AMHERST.'  More  than  necessary.  There  will  be  a  balance  ; 
what  shall  I  do  with  it  ? 

MR.  MILTON.  Bank  it  to  my  credit,  or  keep  it  till  we  meet 
again.  But  come  ;  I  am  on  my  way  to  the  Sacramento  boat,  and 
have  no  time  to  spare.  "We  can  speak  of  this  matter  as  we  pass 
along.  (Exeunt.} 

Enter  Coates  and  Garcia. 

COATES.     You  are  certain  he  received  the  note  ? 

GARCIA.     Positive.     Mike  delivered  it  into  his  own  hand. 

COATES.     How  did  he  receive  the  news  ? 

GARCIA.  With  some  surprise,  and  a  certain  amount  of  agitation. 
"  A  piece  of  villainy,"  said  he,  "  and  I  must  attend  to  the  affair  at 
onoe."  This  language,  you  must  know,  referred  not  to  the  author 
of  the  note,  but  the  news  it  communicated. 

COATES.,  (Looking  at  his  watch.}  It  is  now  after  three  o'clock. 
At  four  the  old  man  will  be  on  his  way  to  Sacramento.  To-morrow, 
at  daylight,,  the  coach  will  leave  for  Shasta.  Next  night,  if  he  is 


12  EARLY    CALIFORNIA. 

fortunate  in  his  connections,  he  will  be  at  the  bar.  He  had  no  sus 
picion,  then,  that  the  letter  was  a  forgery  ? 

GARCIA.  Not  the  slightest,  but  swallowed  the  bait  as  if  it  had 
been  sugar-coated. 

COATES.  Now  for  a  departiire.  It  is  necessary  we  should  be  at 
the  bar  as  soon  as  he — before,  if  possible. 

GARCIA.  Why  so  much  hurry?  We're  having  a  jolly  time, 
and  the  purse  will  hold  out  a  week  longer. 

COATES.     And  what  then  ? 

GARCIA.  We've  been  in  tighter  places,  and  always  managed  to 
pull  through. 

COATES.     Garcia,  I  fear  you  have  no  heart  in  this  affair. 

GARCIA.     Why  should  I  have  ?     It's  nothing  that  concerns  me. 

COATES.  True.  I  had  not  thought  of  that.  With  you  it  is  the 
adventure  of  a  chevalier — with  me,  a  motive  of  revenge.  Had  you 
been  insulted,  rejected,  spurned,  as  I  have  been,  it  might  be  differ 
ent.  It  was  hard  to  crush  out  the  yearnings  of  a  loving  heart — to 
stifle  an  honorable  ambition  that  gilded  my  sky  of  future  promise. 
Look  ye,  Garcia,  it  has  not  been  said  to  you,  in  this  case,  as  to  me — 
"  The  convicted  forger  shall  never  mingle  his  blood  with  the  current 
that  flows  in  offspring  of  mine  !"  They  were  bitter  words,  Garcia, 
bilfter  words,  and  did  much  towards  making  me  the  outcast  I  am. 

GARCIA.  How  did  the  old  man  hear  of  your  mishap  ?  You  told 
me  it  occurred  somewhere  out  West. 

COATES.  Can  crime  flatter  itself  with  the  hope  of  concealment  ? 
There  were  observing  eyes  upon  me,  and  tattling  tongues,  to  pub 
lish  the  story  of  my  disgrace.  I  might  have  reformed  and  become 
a  good  citizen ,  if  the  world  had  not  hunted  me  down.  Now  I  live 
only  for  revenge.  The  highest  ambition  I  cherish  is,  to  get  even. 

GARCIA.  It  is  to  be  simply  a  case  of  robbery,  eh  ?  No  violence, 
or  bloodshed,  or  anything  of  that  sort  ? 

COATES.  Enterprises  of  the  kind  must  be  conducted  according 
to  the  circumstances  that  surround  them.  I  want  his  money  first, 
and  his  daughter  next.  Do  you  understand  ?  The  surest  will  be 
the  best  method  to  obtain  both. 

GARCIA.  Well,  our  destinies  are  blended,  and  we  will  follow 
them  out  together. 

COATES.  Remember,  the  affair  is  one  that  demands  coolness  and 
resolution. 

GARCIA.  Perform  your  part  as  well  as  I  shall  mine,  and  there 
will  be  no  cause  for  recrimination.  (Exeunt.} 

(Enter  Mrs.  Grubbs  and  Maggie,  meeting  Mike.) 

MRS.  GRUBBS.     Can  you  tell  us,  sir,  is  it  far  to  the  mines  ? 

MIKE.  I  might,  if  I  knew  where  you  wanted  to  go.  What  mines, 
good  woman? 

MRS.  GRUBBS.  Oh,  to  be  sure.  I  'spose  there  is  more  than  one 
of  them. 

MIKE.     I  should  think  so. 


EAKLY   CALIFORNIA.  13 

MRS.  GRUBBS.     Where  is  it  we  are  to  go,  Maggie  ? 

MAGGIE.     To  Texas  Bar,  he  said. 

MRS.  G-RUBBS.     Yes,  to  Texas  Bar.     Do  you  know  where  that  is  ? 

MIKE.     I  could  tell  you  better  if  I  heard  the  county. 

MAGGIE.  Here,  Aunt,  is  the  paper.  It  reads,  "  Texas  Bar, 
Trinity  County."  We  must  inquire  for  Missouri  Bill,  who  keeps 
a  trading  post  there. 

MRS.  GRUBBS.  I  remember  now.  That's  the  direction.  A 
young m-an  calling  himself  Jeff.,  who  said  he  was  clerk  at  the  post, 
engaged  us.  He  took  a  fancy  to  my  niece  here,  and  told  her  she 
could  make  her  fortune  in  the  mines.  You  see,  she  has  been 
brought  up  on  the  boards,  as  they  call  it,  and  can  dance,  and  sing, 
and  do  chores.  I  am  to  wash  and  attend  to  the  cooking, 

MIKE.     Have  you  any  money  ? 

MRS.  GRUBBS.  A  little.  We've  never  lacked*  for  that,  since 
we've  been  in  California. 

MIKE.  The  boat  will  leave  in  a  few  minutes,  and  you'll  be  left 
if  you  don't  ride.  My  hack's  at  the  corner.  I  rather  like  the  looks 
of  the  gal  myself,  and  I'll  take  you  both  down  to  the  wharf  for  six 
dollars.  So,  hurry  up,  if  you're  going. 

MRS.  GRUBBS.  We  must  be  there  certain,  Maggie,  to  make 
them  'rangements.  Here's  the  money,  sir.  O,  dear ;  0,  dear ! 
(Exeunt.} 

(Enter  Tim  O'Donnell.} 

TIM.  That  last  chap  that  I  met  at  Martin  &  Horton's  is  a  purty 
speciment  of  human  nathur.  A  Mohamedown,  I  think  they  tould 
me  he  was,  who  wears  a  red  cap  and  worships  the  murtherin'  im- 
posther.  He  carries  pies  and  things  on  a  boord  before  him,  and 
clanks  a  couple  of  sthicks  together,  bawling  out,  "  Cakes!  cakes!" 
And  divil  the  more  Inglish  than  that  does  he  know.  Howly  St. 
Pathrick  !  if  an  Irishman  is  to  be  schandalized  by  associating  wid 
such  scum,  it's  a  penance  he'll  have  to  do  to  get  the  odor  from  his 
garments.  But  it's  a  fra  counthry ,  cushla,  and  there's  no  tellin'  but 
I'll  come  to  cake-sellin'  one  of  tham  days  meself.  Mrs.  O'Donnell 
would  niver  object  to  thot,  for  she  has  a  swate  tooth  in  her  head  ; 
and  thot's  where  the  difficulty  might  be  ;  for  be  my  sowl !  she 
would  ait  up  all  the  profits. 

(Enter  Mike.} 

MIKE.     Good  day  to  you,  Pat. 

TIM.     Pat  and  be  d — d  to  you,  ye  spalpeeu. 

MIKE.     No  offence.     Dennis  will  do  as  well. 

TIM.  Nor  Dennis,  aither.  If  ye  would  be  civil  to  a  gintleman, 
ye  may  call  me  Tim. 

MIKE.     A  very  good  name. 

TIM.  Ye  may  well  say  thot.  Me  forefaders  honored  it  in  the 
wearin'  of  it,  and  it  came  down  to  me  by  the  right  of  family  dis- 
cint. 

MIKE.     How  else  shall  I  call  you? 


14  EARLY   CALIFORNIA. 

TIM.  O'Donnell — Tim.  O'Donnell,  from  the  County  Clare  ;  by 
occupation  master  of  my  profession. 

MIKE.     And  what  is  that  ? 

TlM.     You'll  niver  find  out  till  ye  employ  me. 

MiKB.     You  reside  in  the  city,  I  suppose  P 

TlM.  Don't  be  too  hasty  in  your  suppositions,  for  the  questions 
a  difficult  one  to  answer. 

MIKE.     How  long  have  you  been  in  the  State  ? 

TIM.  Bedad,  not  long ;  and  it's  work  I  must  be  afther  doin'  if 
I  live  in  it  much  longer. 

MIKE.  Of  course  you're  a  Democrat?  Your  countrymen  all 
vote  with  our  party,  you  know. 

TlM.     And  is  it  a  profitable  business  thot  they  foind  it  ? 

MIKE.     It  may  be  made  so. 

TlM.     Gro  on  ;  for  I'm  interested  in  yer  conversation. 

MIKE.  You  must  be  made  a  citizen  at  once.  An  election  takes 
place  before  long,  and  we  shall  want  your  vote. 

TIM.     Oh,  ye  will,  eh  ? 

MIKE.  There's  a  card  containing  directions  where  you  can  find 
me.  I  have  a  job  of  work  waiting  for  you. 

TlM.     And  is  it  honest  work  ye  mane  ? 

MIKE.     Entirely  honest,  and  good  pay,  at  that.     (Exit.} 

TlM.  Be  me  sowl,  now,  but  that's  the  mon  I've  been  lookin'  for. 
Hoop  !  Tim  yer  in  luck !  Work,  and  honest  work,  and  good  pay  ! 
That's  what  it  is  to  be  in  a  fra  counthry,  where  whisky  is  plenty, 
and  lots  of  goold  to  buy  it  with,  and  they  call  it  Californy  !  (Exit.} 

SCENE  THIRD. — Missouri  Bill's  trading  post — Miners  seated  round 
a  table — Steve  standing  in  front  of  Bar — A  song  and  jig. 

MISSOURI  BILL.     How's  the  diggins'  a-payin',  boys  ?  •» 

STEVE.     I've  struck  it  rich,  Bill. 

BILL.  Thar,  now  ;  I  told  yer  that  a'ar  blue  streak  war'ent  put 
into  the  gravel  for  nothin'. 

STEVE.     Three  ounces  to  the  pan. 

BILL.  Lord  !  Why,  that  a'ar  almost  comes  up  to  Mr.  Milton's 
claim.  But  whar's  the  dust  ? 

STEVE.     (Going  to  the  door.}     Jeff,  bring  in  the  pan. 

BILL.  Sich  luck  as  that'll  set  yer  up,  shu',  Steve.  Yer  needn't 
ax  For  tin'  for  nothin'  better. 

(Jeff  enters  with  pan,  and  exhibits  gold  to  audience.} 

STEVE.     Almost  good  enough  to  stand  treat  on.    Eh,  Bill  ? 

BILL.  Wa'al,  I  keeps  lickers,  and  thar  for  sale.  Jeff  got  back 
to-day  with  the  train,  and  he's  brought  up  the  best  that  'Frisco 
could  afford.  Come  boys  ;  yer  a.11  wanted.  (Miners  advance  to  bar 
and  drink. }  \ 

STEVE.     I  say,  Jeff,  did  you  see  Mr.  Milton  at  the  Bay  ? 

BILL.     I've  heern  that  Mr.  Milton  a'ar  returned  a-ready. 


EARLY    CALIFORNIA.  15 

STEVE.  Why,  he  expected  to  be  gone  a  couple  of  weeks.  Did 
his  family  come  on  the  steamer  ? 

BILL.  'Pears  thar  wa'ar  some  failure  in  thar  a-gettin'  of  the 
news. 

STEVE.  It's  curious  he  shoxild  be  back  so  soon,  when  no  one  ex 
pected  him.  But  he's  a  man  that's  always  welcome  among  men, 
and  I'll  be  right  glad  to  see  him. 

BILL.  And  I  too.  He's  allers  straightfor'ard  and  squar  ;  ready 
at  any  time  to  help  a  nabor,  and  not  a  bit  of  ugliness  in  him. 

STEVE.  What  say  you,  boys,  to  a  friendly  game  of  draw  for  the 
liquors  ? 

ALL.     Yes,  a  game. 

STEVE.     Shall  we  deal  you  a  hand,  Bill  ? 

BILL.  No.  Since  Mr.  Milton  a'ar  back,  I  hev  some  bisness  to 
attend  to  with  him. 

STEVE.     Very  well.     Jeff,  hand  us  a  deck  of  cards. 

(Enter  Mr.  Milton.} 

BILL.  Bless  me,  ef  thar  a'rnt  Mr.  Milton  now.  Ra'al  glad  to 
see  ycr,  Mr.  Milton.  Why,  yer  back  sooner  nor  we  expected  ye'd 
be.  (Miners  flock  round  and  shake  hands  with  Mr.  Milton,  Jeff  in 
cluded.} 

MR.  MILTON.  (Glancing  furtively  around.}  Yes,  much  sooner 
than  I  expected  myself.  A  note  containing  certain  information  of 
an  unnecessarily  alarming  character,  was  placed  in  my  hand  at  San 
Francisco,  summoning  me  to  return  to  the  mountains  at  once.  But 
as  I  was  disappointed  in  not  finding  my  family  on  the  steamer,  it  is 
just  as  well.  I  am  brought  all  the  sooner  into  companionship  with 
my  good  friends.  Gentlemen  (turning  to  miners  at  table]  I  am  not 
much  of  a  drinker,  as  you  know,  but  on  this  occasion,  I  should  be 
happy  to  have  you  join  me  in  a  glass. 

ALL.     Certainly,  Mr.  Milton,  (advancing  to  bar.) 

BILL.  I'll  wait  on  yer,  Mr.  Milton,  myself.  Here's  ra'al  good 
Sherry.  (All  drink.)  'Tend  to  yer  game,  boys,  I  hev  somethin'  to 
say  to  Mr.  Milton.  (Draws  Milton  to  front.}  I  wa'ar  a  comin' 
over  to  see  yer,  Mr.  Milton.  I  hev  bin  to  'siderable  'spence  lately, 
luyin'  in  stores,  buy  in'  a  pack-train  and  buildin'  a  'dition  to  the 
post,  and  I  thought  ef  yer  had  it  to  spa'ar  for  three  months,  or  sich 
a  matter,  that  I'd  ask  yer  for  the  loan  of  six  thousand  dollars. 

MR.  MILTON.  My  old  friend,  the  favor  you  ask  shall  willingly 
be  granted.  And  in  return,  I  have  a  secret  to  confide  to  you,  which 
I  would  entrust  to  but  few  men  but  yourself.  You  are  aware  that 
my  claim  has  paid  enormously  of  late.  A  considerable  portion  of 
the  money  has  been  invested,  and  a  part  is  in  good  hands  for  further 
outlay  ;  but  there  is  still  a  large  balance  left.  This,  as  you  may 
suspect,  I  have  buried.  It  is  to  you,  and  you  alone,  that  I  wish  to 
point  out  the  place  of  its  concealment.  Then,  if  any  accident 
should  occur  to  me,  you  can  restore  it  to  my  family. 


16  EARLY   CALIFORNIA. 

BILL.     Lord,  Mr.  Milton  !    Who'd  a-think  of  injurin'  you  ? 

MR.  MILTON.  It's  hard  to  tell,  Bill.  The  world  is  full  of  bad 
people.  And  to  confess  the  truth,  the  signs  of  danger  have  been 
frequent  of  late. 

BILL.     Sho  !     A'ar  that  so? 

MR.  MILTON.  (Close  to  Bill's  ear,  and  glancing  around.}  Too 
true,  my  friend.  Listen.  A  letter  was  handed  me  in  San  Francisco, 
informing  me  that  my  claim  had  been  jumped,  and  that  if  I  did 
not  return  immediately,  it  would  be  lost  to  me.  This,  I  found,  on 
reaching  the  Bar,  was  a  base  fabrication.  But  there  was  some  mo 
tive  for  the  falsehood.  Besides,  other  events  have  recently  trans 
pired  to  cause  me  despondency.  However,  let  that  pass.  Your 
business  remains,  and  we  will  go  at  once  and  attend  to  it. 

BILL.     But  the  'seurity,  Mr.  Milton  ;  the  'scurity. 

MR.  MILTON.  Never  mind  that.  Your  honor  shall  stand  in  lieu 
of  writings.  I  would  trust  you  for  a  much  larger  sum  on  your 
mere  word. 

BILL.  (Dashing  a  tear  from  his  eye.}  Now,  that's  what  I 
call  partik'lar  manly.  (Exeunt.} 

STEVE.  Boys,  the  game's  getting  dull.  Jeff,  let's  have  some 
liquor. 

(Enter  Uncle  CTuwley  and  Irippletopper.} 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.     At  it  again,  eh  ? 

STEVE.  Only  a  game  for  the  drinks,  Uncle  Charley.  Won't 
you  take  a  hand  ? 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.  Now,  that'd  look  well,  wouldn't  it,  in  a 
magistrate  of  only  two  weeks' standin' ?  'Twouldn't  do.  Besides, 
it's  late,  and  I'm  on  the  way  to  the  cabin.  How's  it  bin  with  you 
in  the  diggins'  to-day,  boys  ?  Lucky  ? 

STEVE.  Nothing  to  complain  of  but  a  scarcity  of  water.  What'll 
you  take,  Uncle  Charley  ? 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.  Bourbon  straight.  Don't  git  up  ;  I'll  drink 
at  the  bar.  Here's  to  ye,  lads  ;  and  may  ye  sleep  sounder  nor  I  will 
ter-night,  for  the  'skeeters  is  awful  on  the  creek. 

STEVE.  (Pointing  to  Irippletopper.}  That's  the  new-comer  of  a 
pettifogger.  He  has  his  nose  in  everybody's  business. 

TRIPFLETOPPER.  (Advancing  to  card  table.}  A  pleasant  game, . 
I  hope,  gentlemen.  Fine  recreation  after  the  labors  of  the  day. 
Harmless — entirely  harmless.  The  weary  miner  requires  diversion 
and  a  liquid  stimulus  before  retiring  to  rest.  Innocent  sport,  when 
money  is  plenty,  to  decide  who  shall  bear  the  expense.  A  mere 
contest  of  friendship,  in  which  the  loser  is  but  little  out,  and 
achieves  all  the  honor. 

STEVE.  (Aside.}  Now  he's  fishing  for  a  drink.  (To  Tripple- 
topper.}  I  say,  Mr.  Lawyer,  do  you  ever  imbibe  ? 

TRIPPLETOPPER.  On  my  word  !  Ah !  I  see  your  drift.  You 
would  'pose  me.  Capital !  I  thank  you.  Mind,  no  less  than 


EARLY   CALIFORNIA.  17 

triiiscle  wears.     Both  are  rejuvenated  by  a  social  glass.     (Advances 
to  bar.} 

JEFF.     I  gues?  not.     This  bar  gives  no  credit. 

TitirPL  STOPPER.  Do  not  misunderstand  me,  young  man.  I 
made  no  demand.  Your  liquors  are  an  abomination,  and  death 
lingers  in  the  cup.  (Aside.}  No  chance  for  a  drink  here.  (Aloud,} 
Good  night,  gentlemen  ;  a  very  good  night.  (Aside.}  The  last 
chance  is  a  pull  at  Uncle  Charley's  flask.  (Aloud.}  A  very  good 
night.  I  say  —  a  very  good  night. 

UNCLE  CHAIILEY.     (Taking  Irippletopper's  arm.}    Come  along 
Tripplecoffers  ;  I've  bin  awaitin'  on  ye.    (Exeunt  Uncle  Charley  and 
Trippletopper.} 

(Enter  Coates  and  Garcia.} 

COATES.  (To  G-arcia.}  Let  me  do  the  talking,  and  there'll  be 
no  conflict  of  stories.  Gentlemen,  we  are  strangers  in  these  parts, 
on  our  way  to  Scott  Mountain.  "We  are  without  blankets,  and 
would  like  to  have  a  night's  lodging. 

STEVE.     Jeff,  here's  a  little  business  for  you  to  attend  to. 

JEFF.  I  suppose  we  can  accommodate  you  in  some  way  ;  but  you 
must  take  it  as  it  comes.  The  floor's  the  best  we  can  do  for  you. 

COATES.  That  will  do.  Any  port  in  a  storm,  you  know.  Gen 
tlemen,  will  you  take  something  ? 

STEVE.  For  myself,  no.  (Aside.)  There's  a  look  about  that 
fellow  I  don't  like.  (  Aloud.)  WeVe  had  enough  ;  or,  if  we  want 


more,  there's  money  in  the  pot  to  pay  for  it.  Comej  boys,  let's  .go 
home. 

ALL.     Good  night,  Jeff.     (Exeunt  miners.) 

JEFF.     Good  night,  boys. 

COATES.  These  miners  are  very  particular,  and  not  over-scrupu 
lous  about  giving  offence.  But  never  mind.  My  friend  here  and  I, 
will  test  the  quality  of  your  liquors. 

JEFF.     (Going  to  door.)     Joe,  bring  in  the  blankets. 

COATES.     Are  you  the  proprietor  here  ? 

(Enter  Joe  with  blankets,  and  exit.} 

JEFF.     No.     Missouri  Bill  runs  this  institution. 

COATES.     And  where  is  he  now  ? 

JEFF.  He  went  off  a  while  ago  with  Mr.  Milton,  but  he'll  be 
back  directly.  (Coates  and  Garcia  exchange  glances.) 

COATES.     Then  we'll  wait  for  him. 

JEFF.  You  needn't.  When  there's  strangers  here,  me  and  him 
sleeps  on  the  hay  in  the  corral. 

COATES.  I'm  glad  of  that,  for  my  friend  is  troubled  with  ner 
vous  spells,  and  sometimes  walks  the  floor  at  nights.  It  would  be 
no  disturbance,  I  hope  ? 

JEFF.  Not  to  us  in  the  corral.  We're  used  to  worse  noises  nor 
that.  Here's  yer  "  shake-down,"  and  I'm  off  to  my  roost.  (Exit.} 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 


18  EARLY   CALIFORNIA. 

COATES.  (Looking  out  of  door,  slightly  opened.}  He  disappears. 
Everything  works  to  a  charm.  (Another  look.)  All  quiet.  No  one 
stirring.  Now  to  the  object  in  hand. 

GARCIA.  ( Who  has  drank  several  times  from  bottle,  and  robbed  the 
pan.}  I  suppose  you  know  the  way  ? 

COATES.  Perfectly  ;  but  we  must  avoid  the  trail.  The  coast  is 
clear.  Quick  ;  let  us  be  off.  A  curse  on  the  liquor.  It  burns  in 
my  brain  like  a  coal  of  fire.  (A  distant  cry  heard  loithout.  Tableau, 
Coates  and  Garcia  crouching.} 

SCENE    FOURTH— In  the  mines.  —  Enter    Uncle    Charley  and 
Trippletopper. 

TRIPPLETOPPEK.  My  dear  sir,  you  are  wrong.  This  is  lex 
terrae.  The  King  may  no  more  violate  it  than  his  humblest  sub 
ject. 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.    Now,  see  here,  Tripplecoffers — 

TRIPPLETOPPER.     Trippletopper,  if  you  please. 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.  Well,  Tripplecoppers  ;  thar's  no  use  argerin' 
agin  justice.  The  law  makes  rogues  of  honest  men,  and  pertects 
scoundrels.  Give  a  murderer  or  a  thief  money,  and  he  kin  go 
through  its  sophistrees  as  easily  as  through  a  spider's  web  ;  but  with 
out  friends  which  can  be  bought,  the  law  falls  on  and  crushes  him. 
Don't  talk  to  me  about  law.  I  despise  it ;  and  I  say  that  law,  in  a 
gineral  way,  is  a  gineral  humbug  ;  and  bein'  a  Justice  of  the  Peace, 
I  orter  to  know. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.  I'm  astounded,  your  honor.  You  a  magis 
trate,  and  use  language  like  that. 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.  I  hold  thar  should  be  right  a-tween  man  and 
man;  and  any  law  that  says  to  the  contrary,  is  agin  the  Constitu 
tion  and  Declaration  of  Independence.  Let  no  one  dare  to  arger  to 
the  contrary  afore  my  Court,  or  I'll  commit  him  for  contempt,  and 
take  pleasure  in  a-doin'  of  it. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.  Erom  the  days  of  King  John,  when  Magna 
Charta — 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.  Now,  Tripplecoffers;  them's  words  that 
a'ar  a-hard  for  me  to  understand,  and  I  Avant  you  to  cut  'em  short. 
We're  a-come  to  whar  our  roads  divide  ;  and  I'll  jest  say  to  yer, 
afore  partin.',  that  ef  you  practice  afore  me,  thar  must  be  more 
strikin'  and  less  blowin'.  I'll  not  entertain  yer  tecknikalities. 
Yer  must  come  direct  to  the  pint,  and  ef  yer  'tempt  to  prove  an 
innocent  man  guilty,  I'll  send  yer  to  jail  for  malice  aforethought. 
Ef  I  don't,  may  I  be .  (Exit.} 

TRIPPLETOPPER.  Oh  !  oh  I  He  was  about  to  say  d — n.  Shades 
of  Blackstone,  Story  and  Kent ! — Venerable  wearers  of  the  ermine 
and  gown  !  The  comely  structure  of  j  urisprudence  is  overthrown  ! 
Dogberries  have  usurped  thy  temples,  and  the  Daniels  of  legal  lore 
must  now  seek  for  occupation  among  the  brutes  !  (Exit.} 


EARLY    CALIFORNIA.  19 

(Enter  Jeff  and  Maggie.) 

MAGGIE.  Don't  let  us  go  any  further,  Jeff ;  I'm  afraid  in  this 
lonely  region. 

JEFF.     Of  what,  Maggie  ? 

MAGGIE.     I  don't  know;  Indians,  or  grizzlies,  or  robbers. 

JEFF.  No  danger,  Maggie.  The  country,  though  new,  is  too 
old  for  that.  And  then,  ain't  your  Jeff  by  your  side  ? 

MAGGIE.  Well,  if  you  think  there's  no  danger,  all  right.  I 
love  the  moonlight,  and  to  hear  the  rippling  waters  in  the  river. 
And  that  reminds  me,  Jeff — you  promised  to  sing  for  me  if  I 
walked. 

JEFF.  So  I  will,  Maggie  ;  and  dance  too,  if  you  like  ;  for  I'm  in 
excellent  spirits.  "What  will  you  have  ? 

MAGGIE.     The  serenading  song  I  admire  so  much. 

JEFF.     Very  well ;  here  goes. 

Open  the  Door  to  Me. 

Open  the  door,  love  ;  open  to  me ; 
A  zephyr  of  perfumes  comes  in  from  the  sea  ; 
I've  kisses  and  vows  for  thee,  ample  in  store. 
Open  the  door  to  me— open  the  door. 

Open  the  door  to  me — dim  in  the  west, 
'Mid  a  cluster  of  stars,  is  the  moon's  fading  crest ; 
No  longer  in  anger,  the  wave  beats  the  shore — 
Open  the  door  to  me— open  the  door. 

Open  the  door  to  me;  fondly  I  wait, 
Like  a  bird  that  laments  to  be  joined  by  its  mate  ; 
The  sorrow  of  parting  shall  pain  us  no  more— 
Open  the  door  to  me— open  the  door. 

ENCORE  SONG. 
Three  Thousand  Miles  Away, 

I  left  my  home  in  '49, 

For  California  bound ; 
When  cash  was  low  and  ships  were  slow 

That  came  the  horn  around  ; 
When  ox-teams  toiled  the  plains  across 

And  made  the  journey  gay-a-a. 
And  I  found  the  land  with  the  golden  strand, 

Three  thousand  miles  away. 

CHORUS:  The  iron  horse  is  waiting, 

He's  snorting  on  the  track  ; 
He  paws  the  ground  with  a  clicking  sound, 

To  bear  me  safely  ba-a-ck. 

I  leave  in  the  morning  train,  to  see  my  love  again ; 
It  is  not  far,  in  a  Pullman  car- 
Three  thousand  miles  away. 

The  coach  it  is  too  slow ; 

That  kind  of  thing1  's  played  out ; 
Hill  Beach's  line  can't  come  to  tine, 

And  the  pony's  put  to  rout. 


20  EARLY    CALIFORNIA. 

O,  for  the  jolly  ra-a-a-il 

Now  everywhere  in  play, 
In  a  week  it  '11  bear  me  to  my  love, 

Three  thousand  miles  away. 

CHOEUS  :  The  iron  horse  is  waiting,  etc. 

O,  I  have  "made  the  riffle" 

My  pocket's  lull  of  "rocks;" 
I've  beat  the  Beai-g  in  mining  shares 

And  corne  off  with  their  stocks. 
No  use  to  write  a  letter 

To  my  sweetheart  to-da-a-ay, 
The  telegraph  will  make  her  laugh, 

Three  thousand  miles  away. 

CHORUS  :  The  iron  horse  is  waiting,  etc. 

SCENE   rlVE.—  Interior  of  Mr.  Milton's  cabin.    Missouri  Sill 
discovered  passing  out  of  the  door. 

BILL.     Mr.  Milton,  I  shall  never  forget  this  favor. 

MK.  MILTON.  Say  no  more  about  it  Bill.  Shall  I  walk  with 
you  on  the  trail  ? 

BILL.  No,  I  see  a  couple  of  nabors  out  thar,  a-goin'  my  way. 
I'll  soon  kotch  up  with  'em.  Good  night,  Mr.  Milton,  good  night. 
Ho,  thar!  (Exit.} 

MR.  MILTON.  (Barring  cabin  door.)  I  am  by  no  means  supersti 
tious,  but  an  unaccountable  sadness  overcomes  me,  as  if  some 
calamity  impended.  There  were  stealthy  footsteps  around  the 
cabin  to-night ;  and  when  I  started  for  the  post,  something  like  a 
shadow  glided  across  the  trail,  and  disappeared  among  the  pines. 
But  these  are  idle  fantasies,  and  I  will  dismiss  them.  There  is  care 
enough  in  the  realities  of  life,  without  borrowing  trouble.  (A  rap 
at  the  door.}  This  is  a  late  and  unusual  hour  for  visitors.  An- 
other  rap.}  Ah  !  it  is  Bill,  come  back  to  insist  on  the  security.  Who 
knocks  ? 

COATES.  (  Without}.  Benighted  strangers,  but  friends,  who  ask  a 
night's  shelter. 

MR.  MILTON.  ( Unbarring  the  door.}  The  act  may  be  imprudent, 
but  never  be  it  said  I  was  deaf  to  an  appeal  for  hospitality.  Come 
in. 

.    (Enter  Coates  and  Garcia.} 

COATES.  Sorry  to  disturb  you  ;  but  the  air  is  raw,  and  we  are 
thinly  clad.  We  dared  not  trust  ourselves  to  the  ground  without 
blankets. 

Mil.  MILTON.  You  are  welcome,  gentlemen,  to  such  humlle 
accommodations  as  I  have  to  offer.  Will  you  be  helped  to  food  ? 

COATES.  Thank  you,  no.  We  dined  heartily.  You  seem  to  be 
alone ;  and  to  my  thinking,  an  isolated  residence  of  the  kind  is 
neither  desirable  nor  pleasant  in  a  wild  region  like  this. 


EARLY   CALIFORNIA.  21 

Mil.  MiLTON.  I  have  excellent  neighbors,  and  a  few  books,  with 
which  I  manage  to  amuse  myself  in  my  leisure  hours. 

COATES.     Have  you  been  here  long  ? 

MR.  MILTON.     In  the  county  for  several  years. 

COATES.     From  what  State  do  you  hail  ? 

MR.  MILTON.     From  Missouri,  last. 

COATES.     And  what  part  ? 

MR.  MILTON.     The  somewhat  famoxis  Pike  county. 

COATES.     I  came  from  that  section  of  country  myself. 

MR.  MILTON.     And  you  are  called  ? 

COATES.  Rodolph  Coates.  (Mr.  Milton  starts.)  The  name 
does  not  seem  to  sound  agreeably  to  you. 

MR.  MILTON.  To  tell  the  truth,  you  are  not  just  the  person  I 
should  choose  as  a  companion  for  the  night ;  or,  for  that  matter,  on 
any  occasion.  But  you  are  now  an  inmate  of  my  cabin,  and  its 
privileges  shall  be  sacred  to  you. 

COATES.  You  misjudged  and  wronged  me  deeply  in  that  affair 
about  your  daughter. 

MR.  MILTON.  Mr.  Coates,  that  is  a  matter  we  will  not  now  dis 
cuss.  It  is  a  subject  that  must  prove  disagreeable  to  us  both. 

COATES.     But  I  would  like  to  come  to  an  understanding  now. 

MR.  MILTON.  There  can  be  no  understanding.  I  have  never 
regretted  the  circumstance  to  which  you  allude.  If  the  scene 
were  to  be  re-enacted,  I  would  perform  the  same  part  I  did  then. 
Let  us  dismiss  the  subject.  In  the  adjoining  room  is  a  bed.  Oc 
cupy  it  with  your  friend.  It  is  accorded  to  you  freely. 

COATES.  It  is  neither  your  bed  nor  the  shelter  of  your  roof  I 
came  to  share,  but  to  demand  the  hand  of  your  daughter.  This 
time  I  am  prepared  to  enforce  a  favorable  answer. 

MR.  MILTON.     How,  sir  !     Insulting  language,  and  a  threat ! 

COATP^S.  Aye,  both  ;  and  your  severe  looks  can  neither  deter 
me,  nor  change  my  resolve. 

MR.  MILTON.     Quit  my  cabin  on  the  instant ! 

GARCIA.  That's  the  word,  is  it  ?  You're  a  joker — you  are. 
(Shaking  his  finger  under  Milton's  nose.) 

MR.  MILTON.  And  you  leave,  also,  without  forcing  me  to  the 
trouble  of  putting  you  out. 

GARCIA.  If  that's  your  cue,  let  the  strongest  man  be  the  win 
ner.  ( A  grapple.  Garcia  stabs  Milton  in  the  breast.  Coates  stabs 
him  from  behind.} 

MR.  MILTON.  (Falls.)  My  presentiments  are  fulfilled.  But  it 
is  too — late — to — avoid — the — danger.  (Dies.  Garcia  robs  body 
of  papers  and  gold  watch.} 

tJoATES.  (Advancing  to  table.)  What's  this?  An  unfinished 
letter  to  Carlotta.  The  thing  of  all  others  I  most  wanted.  And 
now,  let's  away.  (Distant  noise  from  without.}  What  noise  was 
that !  ( Tableau.  Coates  and  Garcia  crouch  with  drawn  pistols 
pointed  through  open  door.  Curtain  falls.) 


22  EARLY   CALIFORNIA. 

ACT  II. 

SCENE  FIRST.— (A  street.} 

DR.  AMHEKST.  Are  you  sure,  my  man,  that  you  are  telling  me 
the  truth  ? 

TIM.  Faix,  and  I  tell  it  to  you,  as  it  was  towld  to  me,  and  if  it's 
a  fiction,  as  they  call  it,  you've  got  it  as  chape  as  I  did— and  it 
didn't  cost  much. 

DR.  AMIIERST,  He  said  that  the  Eastern  housa  of  Pao-e,  Bacon 
&  Co.  had  failed? 

TIM.  A  felley  who  boarded  the  steamer  at  Meiggs'  wharf  to 
bring  off  the  mail,  whispered  it  as-  a  secret  to  Pat  M  agoffin,  whose 
hair  stood  on  end,  for  his  sister  has  a  deposit  of  a  hundred  dollars 
there,  and  he  swore  like  the  divil,  for  it  was  a  power  of  money  to 
lose,  do  ye  moind  ! 

Du.  AMHEKST.  A  hundred  dollars !  Why,  I  have  ten  thousand 
there  ;  besides  a  sum  not  my  own ! 

TIM.     Ten  thousand !     Howly  Moses !  you  must  own  the  bank  ! 

DR.  AMHERST.  (Looking  at  his  watch.}  Let  me  see ;  it  will  be 
nearly  an  hour  before  the  steamer  reaches  her  dock  ;  this  will  give 
me  time  to  reach  the  bank  ;  but  not  a  moment  is  to  be  lost. 

TIM.  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir  ;  I  was  at  your  theatre,  and  enquired 
for  the  man  ye  towld  me  of,  but  he  was  dafe,  and  I've  come  back  to 
you  again  for  instructions. 

DR.  AMHERST.  You  must  excuse  me  now ;  the  affair  of  the 
money  is  too  important  to  be  neglected.  I'll  see  you  some  other 
time. 

TIM.     Bedad,  it  would  suit  me  betther  to  have  an  answer  now. 

DR.  AMHERST.  Impossible ;  the  minutes  are  too  precious,  and 
nmst  be  improved,  or  I  am  a  ruined  man. 

TIM.  It  wouldn't  take  long  to  wait  'till  your  hurry's  over. 
Spake  to  the  boss  for  me.  Tell  him  the  situation  must  be  aisy,  and 
little  work  to  perform.  Now,  can't  you  do  that  for  a  gintleman 
that's  hai*d  up  ? 

DR.  AMHERST.  Oh  !  to  the  plague  with  you  !  It  is  sheer  non 
sense  to  parley  with  you  longer,  (Exit.} 

TIM.  What  the  divil's  the  matter  with  the  spalpeen  ?  It's  a  re 
spectable  occupation  that  I.  have — Walking  about  the  streets  with 
me  hands  in  me  pockets  ;  and  I'm  gettin'  out  at  the  knuse.  If  I 
was  a  Chinaman  now,  I  could  take  in  washin'  ;  or  a  Digger  Indian, 
I  might  grub  for  roots ;  but,  on  me  sowl,  it's  mighty  uncomfortable 
for  a  fra  man  in  a  fra  counthry  to  be  hungry,  with  restiyarants  all 
around  ;  and  I'm  divilish  thirsty  too.  Bedad,  that's  a  disease  not 
so  hard  to  cure.  I'll  go  down  and  sthand  in  front  of  Barry  &  Pat 
ten's,  and  some  of  the  boys  will  be  .sure  to  invite  me  to  drink. 
(Exit.} 


f  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 


EARLY    CALIFORNIA. 

SCENE  SECOND. — Interior  of  a  banking  Iwuse.     Cashier  discov 
ered  at  a  counter, — Enter 

DR.  AMHERST.  Good  afternoon,  Mr,  Jones.  This  is  an  in 
trusion.  I  am  aware  of  it ;  but  great  emergencies  excuse  the  lack 
of  ceremony.  This,  to  me,  is  such  an  occasion.  There  is  an  exi 
gency  in  my  theatrical  affairs  that  requires  the  immediate  with 
drawal  of  my  deposits.  You  need  not  remind  me  that  it  is  after 
banking  hours.  I  know  it.  I  do  not  come  to  make  a  demand,  but 
to  ask  a  great  favor, 

MR.  JONES.  Doctor,  you  have  a  seductive  manner.  Your 
speech  is  positively  diplomatic.  Why  don't  you  apply  for  a  situa 
tion  in  one  of  the  legations  ? 

DR.  AMHERST.  Ah,  really;  you  are  complimentary;  but  dis 
patch,  my  dear  sir,  is  now  of  the  utmost  importance, 

MR,  JONES.     Is  the  occasion  really  so  momentous,  Doctor  ? 

DR,  AMHERST,     No  event  in  my  life  has  been  more  so. 

MR.  JONES.  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  precipitate  the  catas 
trophe  !  ( Unlocking  safe  and  producing  two  full  bags  of  unequal 
sizes.}  The  tags  are  right,  and  the  seals  unbroken.  However,  if 
you  desire  it,  we  will  spend  a  half  hour  in  counting  the  money, 

DR.  AMHERST,  No  ;  no.  It  is  needless,  and  would  consume  too 
much  time,  (Seizes  bags  and  is  retiring.  Enter  boy  in  haste,  who 
whispers  in  Jones"  ear.} 

JONES.     What  do  you  say  !     Our  Eastern  house  failed  ? 

DR.  AMHERST.     Yes  ;   and  thank  Fortune,  I  am  secured ! 
(A  crowd  rush  in  ;  Tim  of  the  number,} 

AT.IJ.     Our  deposits !  or  down  with  the  Bank  ! 

TIM.  And  here's  Pat  McGroffiii  for  his  sister's  money,  too ! 
(Scene  closes}. 

SCENE  THIRD.— (A  Street.} 

COATES.  This  note,  ostensibly  from  her  father,  is  ingeniously 
forged.  In  this  disguise  she  cannot  possibly  recognize  me.  She 
will  go  where  the  note  directs  her,  not  doubting  that  her  father 
wrote  it.  Then  she  will  be  completely  in  my  power.  Since  the 
stain  of  blood  is  on  my  hands,  what  further  crime  need  I  scruple  to 
commit  ?  I  was  respected  once  ;  but  let  that  pass.  Fate  may  now 
do  her  worst.  The  stake  for  which  I  play  is  worthy  a  great  effort. 
If  I  fail,  it  only  remains  to  curse  mankind  and  die. 

MIKE.  ( To  Goates.}  The  steamer  is  in  the  offing,  working  slowly 
in.  Are  you  sure  she  is  aboard  ? 

COATES.  There  is  little  doubt  of  it.  I  have  sent  to  have  her 
brought  off  in  a  Whitehall  boat,  and  shall  be  near  to  receive  her. 
Be  on  hand.  Watch  my  movements,  and  bo  ready  to  act. 

MIKE.     And  she  is  to  be  driven  to  the  housa  you  mentioned? 

COATES.  Direct.  See  to  it,  that  no  mawkish  sympathy  leads 
you  to  betray  yourself. 


EARLY   CALIFORNIA. 

MIKE.  Have  no  fear.  The  business  is  not  new  to  me.  It's  you 
that  had  better  be  on  your  guard.  (Exit  Coates}. 

Enter 

TIM.  (Carrying  a  trunk.}  If  a  feather  will  break  the  back  of  a 
camel,  a  burthen  like  this  ought  to  crush  a  mon  intirely. 

MIKE.     Hallo,  Tim  !     What  have  you  there  ? 

TIM.  Ye  may  well  ask  thot.  They  tould  me  it  was  a  trunk,  but 
said  niver  a  word  of  what  was  in  it.  I  was  afther  a  job,  and  faix 
I've  sthruck  one  to  me  sorrow.  It's  to  go  down  to  the  warf,  and 
I'm  to  be  paid  for  it  when  it  gets  there. 

MIKE.     You're  in  luck  to-day,  Tim. 

TIM.  And  ye  think  so  ?  Maybe  ye  would  like  to  share  thot  part 
of  the  business  wid  me. 

MIKE.     Is  the  trunk  heavy  ? 

TIM.  Heft  it  for  yerself .  Be  the  powers !  I'm  afther  thinking 
it's  filled  wid  lead. 

MIKE.     How  much  are  you  to  get  for  carrying  it? 

TIM.     The  matter  o'  four  bits. 

MIKE.     Four  bits  !     Why  it's  worth  two  dollars,  at  least, 

TIM.     Och,  then,  be  me  sowl  I've  been  swhindled. 

MIKE.  If  you  11  bring  the  trunk  to  the  corner  you  may  put  it  on 
my  hack.  I'm  going  down  to  the  wharf,  and  you  can  get  up  with 
me  on  the  box. 

TIM.     And  how  much  will  it  cost  for  the  ride? 

MIKE.     It  sha'nt  cost  you  a  cent. 

TIM.  That's  raisonable,  and  I'm  wid  ye  in  a  jiffy.  And  bedad, 
when  I  drive  my  own  coach  1 11  return  the  compliment.  (Staggers 
while  shouldering  trunk.}  Bad  luck  to  the  load.  It  grows  heavier 
after  restin'. 

MIKE.  I'll  lend  you  a  hand.  Well,  it  is  weighty.  There  must 
be  a  cooking  stove  in  it. 

TIM.  Worse  than  thot,  be  jabers !  I  think  it  contains  a  whole 
foundry.  (Exeunt  Mike  and  Tim.} 

SCENE  FOURTH.— A  wJuirf.— (Enter) 

COATES.  The  Whitehall  approaches  with  my  prize.  Villainy 
thou  art  a  science  !  Who  says  the  wicked  shall  not  prosper  ?  What 
gospel  of  ethics  shall  circumvent  crime  ?  Let  the  pious  read  lec- 
tui-es  ;  the  Divines  preach  conformity  to  law.  There  is  a  subtlety 
in  rascally  invention  that  reaches  higher — a  device  of  infamy  that 
baffles  discovery. 

MIKE.     The  small  boat  with  its  passenger  draws  nigh. 

COATES.     So  much  the  better.     Have  your  hack  in  readiness. 

MIKE.     It  will  answer  to  the  call. 

COATES.  She  comes,  and  the  hour  of  my  revenge  draws  near. 
The  rejected  forger  may  yet  find  himself  an  accepted  suitor.  Pride 


EARLY   CALIFORNIA.  25 

itself  may  be  humbled  by  the  ghost  of  penury,  and  the  coldest  heart 
desire  a  protector  in  order  to  escape  it.  That  I  shall  win  and  wear 
her,  are  the  foregone  conclusions  of  an  assured  belief.  (To  Tim.) 
Do  you  want  a  job  ? 

TIM.  To  be  wanting  is  in  my  loine.  Let  the  carcumstances  be 
agreeable,  and  ye  may  take  yes  for  my  answer. 

COATES,  Then  remain  here,  and  when  the  baggage  from  the 
steamer  is  landed,  take  charge  of  so  much  of  it  as  is  marked  "  Car- 
lot  ta  Milton."  Be  diligent.  Hand  the  luggage  over  to  Mike,  and 
here  are  a  couple  of  dollars  for  your  trouble,  (Retires  up.) 

TIM.  Two  dollars!  Och,  bedad,  that  makes  up  for  the  dollar 
and  a  half  I  lost  on  carrying  the  trunk  wid  the  cooking  stove  in  it. 
(Carlotta  is  landed  from  Whitehall  boat.  Coates  approaches  7ier,) 

COATES.     Miss  Milton,  I  presume  ? 

CAKLOTTA.     That  is  my  name. 

COATES.     I  was  requested  to  hand  you  this  note. 

CARLOTTA.  (Reading  'note.)  It  is  from  my  dear  father.  He  ex 
cuses  his  absence,  and  tells  me  to  place  myself  under  the  protection 
of  the  proprietor  of  the  Oriental  Hotel.  Are  you  the  gentleman  ? 

COATES.  The  same.  Unfortunately,  at  the  present  time  the 
house  is  closed  for  repairs.  But  you  can  trust  yourself  to  this 
worthy  fellow,  (pointing  to  Mike)  who  will  see  you  handsomely 
bestowed. 

CARLOTTA.     Thanks,  sir.     And  is  my  dear  father  well  ? 

COATES.  In  excellent  health.  Your  disappointment  in  not  meet 
ing  him,  will  be  shared  by  him.  An  urgent  affair  of  business 
accounts  for  his  absence.  But  the  separation  will  be  brief  ;  and  in 
the  meantime  you  shall  be  well  taken  care  of, 

CARL.OTTA.     Again,  I  thank  you. 

COATES.  Here,  Mike,  conduct  this  lady  to  your  carriage,  and 
take  her  to  her  rooms.  I  will  tarry,  Miss  Milton,  until  the  steamer 
hauls  in,  and  look  after  your  baggage. 

MrKE.     This  way,  Miss.     (Exeunt  Mike  and  Carlotta,) 

COATES.  Ah,  my  beauty  !  You  are  mine  already,  without  tha 
wooing.  Ere  another  day  has  passed,  I  shall  have  plucked  the 
flower  whose  fragrance  invites  to  a  banquet  of  bliss.  (Exit.) 

TIM.  (Coming  down.)  Now,  what  the  divil  was  it  the  gin  tie- 
man  towld  me  I  was  to  do  for  these  two  dollars  ?  I  was  to  wait  for 
somebody  or  something  that  was  to  come  off  the  steamer.  A  lady, 
I  think.  Yes  ;  it  was  a  lady.  And  her  name  !  Bad  luck  to  me  ! 
It  was  Car — Car — Cara — something.  I  have  it — Caroline.  That's 
it ;  Caroline.  And  the  other  name  was — was — was — be  me  sowl, 
what  was  it?  Mull — Mull — Milligan — Mulligan.  Caroline  Mulli 
gan.  Whoop,  for  a  good  mimory.  I'm  to  wait  for,  and  take  care  of 
Caroline  Mulligan  ;  and  where 's  onyone  else  that  could  do  it  loik 
me  ! 

(Landing  of  steamer.) 

FIRST  RUNNER,     Oriental. 


26  EARLY   CALIFORNIA. 

SECOND     "  Wilson's  Exchange. 

THIRD       "  Rassette  House. 

FOURTH    "  Mantic. 

FIFTH       "  International. 

MATE.  Be  quick,  men.  Make  fast  the  line.  Out  with  the 
plank !  There  now ;  steady  !  Let  go ! 

(Passengers  land — Tim  seizing  each  woman  tJiat  comes  ashore, 
rushes  her  to  the  'footlights,  and  scans  her.  features.  Gets  hold 
of  an  old  Irish  woman,  wJw  proves  a  Tartar.  A  battle  between  them. 
Curtain  falls.) 


ACT    III. 

SCENE  FIRST.     A  Parlor.     Enter 

CABLOTTA.  It  is  eleven  o'clock.  The  night  has  passed  wearily. 
I  have  waited  patiently  and  watched.  Every  footstep  on  the  stair 
fills  me  with  expectation.  Though  sent  for,  he  comes  not.  Why 
this  delay  ?  He  is  the  only  one  who  can  give  me  information  of 
my  father.  And  this  house  !  What  can  it  be  ?  It  has  strange 
occupants.  Oh,  my  dear  father !  how  my  heart  yearns  to  meet 
him.  Will  he  know  me  ?  I  was  but  a  school  girl  when  he  left 
home.  And  he  must  be  changed.  The  frosts  of  sixty-five  years 
have  silvered  his  locks.  Still,  he  has  a  young  heart  and  buoyant 
nature.  He  was  ever  cheerful,  and  kind,  and  generous.  Could  he 
have  heard  of  mother's  death  P  There  is  a  joyousness  about  his 
note  (reperusing  note]  that  tells  me  no.  It  will  devolve  upon  me  to 
break  it  to  him.  Sad,  sad  duty  !  It  will  break  his  heart !  Heaven 
nerve  me  to  the  task  !  (Enter  Coates.)  Ah,  sir,  it  was  cruel  in 
you  to  delay  so  long  !  I  have  much  to  say  to  you — many  questions 
to  ask.  As  to  this  house,  who  and  what  are  its  inmates  ?  Do  they 
claim  respectability  ? 

COATES.     Why  think  otherwise  ? 

CARLOTTA.     Their  behavior  is  strange  and  rude. 

COATES.  California  is  a  frontier  country,  and  its  society  must 
of  course  be  more  or  less  mixed. 

CARL.OTTA.  The  people  have  been  differently  represented  to  me. 
But,  concerning  my  dear  father — when  will  he  come  ?  Did  he 
leave  no  message  for  me  ? 

COATES.     Yes — no — that  is  to  say — the  note  will  explain  all. 

CARLOTTA.  The  note  refers  me  to  you,  sir  ;  and  you  stammer  and 
hesitate.  There  is  an  ill-concealed  embarrassment  in  your  manner. 
I  demand  a  straightforward  answer. 

COATES.  (Aside.}  By  Heaven!  the  old  passion  comes  over  me, 
and  I  cannot  restrain  myself.  (Aloud,  throwing  off  his  disguise.') 
Do  you  not  know  me,  Carlotta  ? 

CARLOTTA.     Who  are  you,  sir  ? 


EARLY   CALIFORNIA.  27 

COATES.  Ah,  I  had  forgotten.  It  is  seven  years  since  we  last 
met.  Then  I  threw  myself  at  your  feet,  as  I  do  now,  to  implore 
your  hand.  If  I  am  changed,  oh,  it  is  your  coldness  that  has  been 
the  cause. 

CARLOTTA.     (Starting  'back  with  surprise.}    You,  Rodolph  Coates 
You  !     And  why  this  deception  ? 

COATES.  O,  pardon  my  indiscretion  !  Love,  Carlotta — a  blind 
ing,  infatuated  passion,  has  led  me  to  risk  everything  to  gain  you. 

CARLOTTA.  Rise,  sir,  and  leave  me!  This  is  the  acting  of  a 
part.  Baseness  is  in  your  heart,  and  falsehood  on  your  tongue. 

COATES.  You  are  unkind,  lady — cruel  in  your  speech.  Hear 
me.  I  swear  to  you,  that  in  the  long  years  of  our  separation,  I 
have  hoped  and  lived  but  to  see  you  again.  Forgive  and  forget  the 
past.  United,  the  future  will  be  to  us  full  of  happiness  and 
promise. 

CARLOTTA.  Begone,  villain !  Love  wears  no  disguise.  It  is 
all  purity  and  ingenuousness.  Yours  is  the  garb  of  hypocrisy,  with 
treachery  in  its  design.  If  I  rejected  you  at  a  time  when  I  had  no 
esteem  for  you,  now  I  despise  and  spurn  you. 

COATES.     So  proud  and  yet  so  dependant ! 

CARLOTTA.  No,  not  dependant,  I  have  my  honor  still  to  sustain 
me. 

COATES.  Think  again.  You  do  not  mean  this.  You  cannot  be 
so  unkind,  Carlotta,  If  I  have  been  rash,  and  done  wrong,  oh,  for 
give  me.  Passion  has  blinded  me  to  every  rule  of  propriety,  I 
have  indulged  only  the  wild  dream  of  possessing  you,  (Approaches 
to  take  her  hand.} 

CARLOTTA,  Stand  off!  There  is  defilement  in  your  touch! 
Where  is  my  father  ?  Why  have  I  been  thus  betrayed  ?  And 
again  I  ask  of  this  house.  What  is  its  reputation,  since  one  so  Tfase 
as  you  can  be  its  master  ? 

COATES,  Since  you  are  so  scornful,  I  leave  you  to  guess  its 
character, 

CARLOTTA.  O,  heaven  !  My  conjectures  have  not  been  amiss. 
Help !  Help ! 

COATES.  Your  appeal  will  find  no  friendly  answer  here.  You 
are  caged,  my  beauty,  and  mine  you  shall  be,  despite  the  opposition 
of  the  Fates  ! 

CARLOTTA.     (Fleeing.}    Help !    Help  !    (Exit,  pursued  by  Coates.} 

Enter 

ERRANT.  (Looking  around.)  The  region  is  dank  with  the  taint 
of  proscription,  and  the  items  gathered  here  are  polluting  to  news 
paper  erudition.  They  disfigure  the  columns  of  the  morning  daily. 
Notwithstanding,  the  region  is  prolific,  and  the  reporter  may  not 
always  select  the  field  of  his  explorations,  nor  hesitate  to  enter 
where  duty  calls.  I  heard  a  scream,  or  my  ears  deceived  me.  It 
came  from  this  quarter ;  and  yet,  the  house  seems  silent  and  deserted. 
I  shall  depart  hence.  As  my  entrance  was  unheralded,  so  shall  my 


28  EARLY    CALIFORNIA. 

exit  be,  and  unobserved.  Let  me  steal  away,  "like  the  Arab  who 
folds  his  tent,"  etc.,  etc.  The  proverb  is  too  musty  for  repetition. 
(A  sharp  scream  from  within.}  Ah;  I  was  not  mistaken!  Yor 
ho  !  Away  with  the  note  book  now  !  Courage  is  the  word  ;  and 
it  may  be,  muscle  for  a  deadly  encounter  ! 

CARix)TTA.     (Rushing  in,  pursued  by  Coates.}    Oh,  save  me,  sir; 


save  me  I 

ERRANT.  It  is  the  cry  of  the  kid  against  the  wolf.  Hold  off ! 
( To  Coates.)  When  a  woman  claims  protection,  cowards  only  hesi 
tate  to  inquire  the  cause. 

CARLOTTA.  O,  do  not  mistake  me,  sir.  I  am  no  part  of  this 
house.  Treachery  beguiled  me  hither,  and  villainy  seeks  my  un 
doing. 

ERRANT.     Begone,  sir!     The  avenging  Nemesis  confronts  you. 

'  COATES.     You  are  valiant  in  the  presence  of  an  unarmed  man. 

I  forbear,  but  do  not  relinquish .    We  shall  soon  meet  again .   (Exit.} 

ERRANT.  For  your  sate,  I  hope  not,  as  I  do  not  like  to  perform 
professional  duty  at  the  foot  of  the  gallows. 

CARLOTTA.  O,  sir ;  how  shall  I  thank  you  for  this  timely  inter 
ference  ? 

EKRANT.  Madame,  it  needs  no  thanks.  A  good  action  has  its 
own  reward.  That  exclamation  "I  am  no  part  of  this  house,"  was 
the  eloquence  of  innocence  itself.  To  have  deserted  you  then,  would 
have  been  a  reproach  to  my  manhood.  But  we  must  quit  this  house 
on  the  instant.  It  is  no  place  for  you. 

CARLOTTA.  This  has  been  a  monstrous  outrage  upon  an  unpro 
tected  girl. 

ERRANT.  I  thoroughly  comprehend  the  situation.  But  we  must 
go.  Will  you  trust  yourself  to  my  protection  ? 

CARLOTTA.    Fearlessly,  sir.    (I»  leading  her  ojf,  when} 

Re-enter 

COATES.  (Disguised  as  at  first.}  One  moment,  you — who  act  the 
role  of  a  hero.  By  what  right  do  you  seek  to  deprive  me  of  my 
wife? 

CARLOTTA.  O,  horrible  !  Wife  of  his !  Believe  it  not !  He  is 
nothing  to  me — a  villain  that  seeks  my  ruin — whom  I  despise  and 
abhor.  Do  not  forsake  me,  or  I  am  lost. 

ERRANT.  The  right  that  I  propose  to  exercise  is  founded  upon 
the  highest  principle  of  justice — to  defend  an  innocent  girl  against 
the  machinations  of  a  human  monster ;  and  this  I  will  do  at  the 
hazard  of  my  life. 

COATES.  Then  let  force  decide  the  victory.  (A  clinch  and  strug 
gle.  Errant  throws  Coates  off,  who  draws  a  knife.  Errant  retreats 
to  side  of  Carlotta,  and  draws  a  pistol.} 

ERRANT.  Ah,  ho  !  Come  on!  Come  on  !  (Tableau,  and  fall 
of  curtain.} 


EARLY   CALIFORNIA.  29 


ACT   IV. 

SCENE  FIRST.— Outside  of  Trading  Post.  A  bar  with  liquors. 
Jeff*  and  Maggie  discovered. 

JEFF.  Maggie,  Bill's  'rested  for  the  murder.  That's  what 
comes  of  hevin'  a  sneakin'  pettifogger  'round.  There  never  was  no 
use  for  a  Justice,  neither,  till  that  chap  made  his  'pearance.  I'll 
wring  his  neck  off  one  of  these  days. 

MAGGIE.  I  wish  you  would,  the  old  sinner.  Just  think,  Jeff, 
the  dance  '11  have  to  be  put  off,  after  the  company  has  all  been 
invited.  It's  too  bad,  so  it  is. 

JEFF.  Well,  it  can't  be  helped.  But  the  worst  of  it  is,  that 
infernal  lawyer  has  'spenied  me  as  a  witness  agin  Bill.  Uncle 
Charley  says  he  shall  have  a  fair  show,  howsomdever.  The  trial  is 
to  be  held  here,  and  some  of  'em  are  comin'  now. 

Enter  Uncle  CharlQy,  Trippletopper  and  miners. 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.  (Taking  his  seat.}  This  ha'ar  Court  are  now 
'sembled.  Tripplecoffers,  are  you  ready  for  the  case  ? 

TEIPPLETOFPER.  Trippletopper,  if  your  honor  please.  The 
People,  or  what  is  the  same  thing — the  State,  is  ready. 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.     A'ar  yer  witnesses  ha'ar,  and  sworn? 

TRIPPLETOPPER.     They  are,  your  honor. 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.  Then  bring  in  the  prisoner,  and  perceed  with 
the  trial.  (Exit  Constable  for  Bill,  and  brings  him  in.)  "What  do 
yer  propose  to  prove  ? 

TRIPPLETOPPPJR.  May  it  please  the  Court,  and  you,  gentlemen 
of  the  ju —  beg  pardon  ;  there  is  no  jury  in  a  mere  case  of  exami 
nation.  We  expect  to  show,  that  on  the  night  of  the  17th  of  June, 
between  the  hours  of  ten  and  eleven  o'clock,  the  prisoner  at  the  bar 
left  the  post — the  very  room  in  which  the  Court  is  now  assembled — 
in  company  with  Mr.  Milton.  Between  the  hours  of  eleven  and 
twelve — or  to  be  more  exact — about  ten  minutes  before  twelve,  he 
overtook  a  couple  of  men  on  the  trail  leading  up  to  the  post,  out  of 
breath  from  running,  and  had  in  his  hand  a  buckskin  purse,  filled 
with  gold  dust.  The  witnesses  and  the  prisoner  soon  after  separ 
ated  at  a  fork  of  the  trail — the  prisoner  going  towards  the  post 
Other  important  testimony  will  be  adduced  in  corroboration.  I 
will  not  tire  the  patience  of  the  Court  in  referring  to  it,  but  proceed 
at  once  with  the  case.  Will  Mr.  Stephen  Ripples  stand  forth  ? 
(Steve  takes  the  stand.)  Mr.  Hippies,  you  were  at  the  post  to  a  late 
hour  on  the  night  of  the  murder,  I  believe  ? 

STEVE.    I  was. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.     And  you  saw  Mr.  Milton  there  ? 

STEVE.    I  did. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.  The  prisoner  conversed  with  Mr.  Milton,  did 
he  not,  while  you  and  your  friends  were  engaged  in  a  social  game 
of  cards  ? 


30  EARLY   CALIFORNIA. 

STEVE.    Yes. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.  About  what  hour  of  the  night  was  that,  Mr. 
Ripples  ? 

STEVE.  Couldn't  say.  It  might  have  been  earlier,  or  it  might 
have  been  later. 

TRIPPLETOPPEK.  A  vague  answer.  You  may  stand  aside. 
(Steve  retires.}  Ah,  one  other  question,  Mr.  Ripples.  That  was  in 
the  county  of  Trinity  and  State  of  California,  was  it  not? 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.  Now,  looke  here,  Tripplecoffers ;  the  witness 
needn't  answer  no  fool  question  like  that ! 

TRIPPLETOPPER.     But,  may  it  please  the  Court — 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.  But  it  don't  please  the  Court  to  hear  no  sich 
nonsense.  Call  yer  next  witness. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.  Mr.  Buckletongue.  (Buckletongue  takes  tJie 
stand.}  Where  were  you  on  the  night  of  the  17th  of  June — say  at 
ten  minutes  to  ten  o'clock  ? 

BUCKLETONGUE.     On  the  trail  with  Fred,  going  to  the  cabin. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.  Were  you  overtaken  by  anyone  before  you 
reached  the  forks  ? 

BUCKLETONGUE.    We  were. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.     Please  state  to  the  Court  who  that  person  was. 

BUCKLETONGUE.     Missouri  Bill. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.     Very  well.     Was  his  manner  excited  ? 

BUCKLETONGUE.     He  came  up  on  a  run,  and  was  breathing  close. 

TRTPPLETOPPER.     Did  he  have  anything  in  his  hand  ? 

BUCKLETONGUE.    Yes  ;  a  bag  of  dust. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.    What  kind  of  dust? 

BUCKLETONGUE.     Gold  dust. 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.     Who  told  you  it  was  gold  dust  ? 

BUCKLETONGUE.     No  one.     I  know'd  it. 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.     And  how  did  you  know  it  ? 

BUCKLETONGUE.     Bekase. 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.  You  stand  aside.  Sich  testimony  as  that 
won't  be  allowed. 

TRIPPLETOPPEK.  Your  honor !  A  ruling  like  that  is  reductio 
ad  absurdum. 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.  Reducter  ad  humbug  'em !  I  don't  want  ter 
hear  none  of  yer  Greek.  This  is  a  Court  of  Justice — not  of  law. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.     Greek,  your  honor.     The  authorities — 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.  Hang  the  authorities.  Fetch  up  yer  next 
witness. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.  The  boy  known  as  Jeff.  (Jeff  takes  the  stand.} 
Your  honor,  this  is  our  most  important  witness,  and  I  would  ask 
the  Court  to  be  particularly  observant  of  his  answers.  (To  Jeff.} 
You  are  clerk,  or  business  man  at  the  post,  are  you  not  ? 

JEFF.     Well,  I  sort  o'  'ficiate  there. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.  Where  were  you  on  the  night  of  Mr.  Milton's 
murder  ? 


EARLY   CALIFORNIA.  31 

JEFF.    I  was  here. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.     Where  did  you  sleep  ? 

JEFF.     On  the  hay  in  the  corral. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.     Who  slept  there  with  you  ? 

JEFF.     Missouri  Bill. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.     Anybody  else  ? 

JEFF.     No. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.     At  what  hour  did  the  prisoner  retire  ? 

JEFF.     Well,  it  was  late. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.     Where  had  he  been  ? 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.  Yer  needn't  answer  that.  How  on  airth 
wa'ar  he  to  know  whar  Bill  had  been,  when  he  wa'an't  thar  ? 

TRIPPLETOPPER.  Correct,  your  honor.  Did  he  have  anything 
with  him  when  he  retired  ? 

JEFF.     Yes. 

TRIPPLETOPPRR.     Well ;  tell  the  Court  what  it  was. 

JEFF.  A  suckin'  calf  what  he  had  fotched  from  its  mother.  (A 
laugh.} 

TRIPPLETOPPER.     (Confused.}    What  else? 

JEFF.     A  rope  to  tie  it  with.     (A  laugli.} 

TRIPPLETOPPER.  I  mean,  in  plain  language,  did  he  have  a  bag 
in  his  hand  ? 

JEFF.    Yes. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.     And  what  did  it  contain  ? 

JEFF.     Nothin'.     (A  laugh.} 

TRIPPLETOPPER.     Nothing  ? 

JEFF.     Nothin'. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.  Now,  Jeff,  I  will  ask  you  what  kind  of  a  sack 
it  was  ? 

JEFF.     An  empty  flour  sack.     (A  laugh.} 

TRIPPLETOPPER.     Did  he  have  anything  else  ? 

JEFF.     Yes. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.     What? 

JEFF.     A  buckskin  purse,  filled  with  gold  dust. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.  Ah,  the  witness  is  brightening  up.  We're 
getting  at  the  facts  at  last.  A  bag  of  gold  dust  1  And  where  did 
he  get  it  ?  Can  you  answer  that  ? 

JEFF.     Yes. 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.  But  he  needn't.  How  was  the  boy  to  know 
where  he  got  the  dust  ? 

JEFF.     I  can  answer  it. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.     If  the  Court  please  ? 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.     Gro  on. 

JEFF.     He  borrowed  it  from  Mr.  Milton. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.  How  do  you  know  he  borrowed  it?  I 
would'nt  like  to  swear  to  that. 

JEFF.  Because  Bill  told  me  so,  and  I'd  rather  believe  his  word 
lor  your  oath,  any  time.  (A  laugh.} 


32  EARLY   CALIFORNIA. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.  The  case  is  made  out.  You  may  stand  aside. 
By  permission  of  your  honor — 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.  I  want  no  argerin'!  Yer  could 'nt  make  me 
believe  Bill  guilty  ef  yer  spoke  till  doomsday.  'Pearances,  I'll 
admit,  are  agin  him,  but  the  presumption  a'ar  in  his  favor  till  he's 
proved  guilty. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.  Certainly,  your  honor.  But  we  ask  a  decision 
on  the  question  of  commitment. 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.  (Approaching  prisoner.}  Bill,  the  Court  a'ar 
not  convinced  yer  had  any  hand  in  this  ar  murder  ;  but  the  law 
says  yer  must  be  held  ;  and — 

Enter 

ERRANT.  Will  the  honorable  Court  pardon  this  intrusion  ;  for  I 
am  informed  this  is  a  Court.  I  imagine  I  am  just  in  time  to  enlighten 
it.  An  adventure  occurred  to  me  only  a  few  minutes  ago,  that  may 
in  some  manner  relate  to  the  case  under  examination.  This  is  an 
arrest  for  murder,  I  am  told  ? 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.  Yes;  but  who  a'ar  yer,  and  whar  did  yer 
come  from  ? 

ERRANT.  My  personality  is  blended  with  my  vocation.  Both 
have  something  to  do  with  current  events,  which  I  am  here  to 
chronicle  in  brief  and  in  the  abstract.  I  am  a  wing'd  Mercury  of 
the  press.  In  this  case,  call  me  the  Avenger — should  my  story — 
as  I  think  it  will — fix  the  brand  of  infamy  where  it  properly 
belongs. 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.  This  a'ar  gettin'  interestin'.  What  more 
hev  yer  to  say  ?  Go  on. 

ERRANT.     What  is  the  nature  of  the  proof  againsb  the  prisoner  ? 

TRIPPLETOPPEU.     Conclusive,  sir.     Conclusive. 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.  See  here,  Tripplecoffers  !  That  a'ar  false. 
The  'zaminatioii  as  yet  hev  bin  all  on  one  side.  'Tother  a'ar  to 
come  yet. 

ERRANT.     When  was  the  deed  committed  ? 

TRIPPLETOPPER.  Eour  nights  ago.  And  a  dastardly  affair  it 
was,  too. 

ERRANT.  That  makes  the  two  events  sufficiently  coincident  to 
warrant  a  logical  deduction.  Will  a  couple  of  gentlemen  step  out 
side  and  bring  in  a  hang-dog  looking  villain  they  will  find  tied 
with  a  lariat  to  a  tree  ?  \Exeunt  Jeff  and  Steve,  who  return  in  a 
moment  with  Garcia,  his  right  arm  in  a  sling.} 

JEFF.  (Pointing  to  Garcia.}  That's  one  of  the  chaps  that  slept 
at  the  post  the  night  of  the  murder. 

ERRANT.     And  what  was  his  appearance  in  the  morning  ? 

JEFF.     Him  and  his  covey  dusted  before  mornin'  come. 

ERRANT.     Ah,  ha !     The  evidence  accumulates  against  him. 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.     Well,  mister ;  what  next  ? 


EARLY   CALIFORNIA.  33 

ERRANT.  Your  honor,  I  am  from  Shasta.  It  was  my  good  for 
tune  to  ride  a  horse,  and  my  misfortune  to  meet  this  villain  on  the 
trail,  who  was  a-foot.  He  sought  to  reverse  our  positions  by  placing 
a  pistol  to  my  head  and  ordering  me  to  dismount.  Before  I  could 
obey,  the  scoundrel's  impatience  got  the  better  of  him,  and  he  fired. 
Luckily  I  leaned  over  the  horse's  neck  at  the  instant,  and  his  bullet 
went  wide  of  its  mark.  It  was  then  man  to  man,  with  the  victory 
in  abeyance.  Steadiness  of  nerve  gave  me  the  advantage.  I  drew 
before  the  fellow  could  recover  from  his  surprise,  and  winged  him 
as  you  see.  His  revolver  dropped  from  his  powerless  hand,  and  I 
captured  him  as  an  offering  to  the  violated  law.  It  would  be  well, 
I  think,  for  the  Court  to  inquire  into  his  antecedent  history. 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.     Let  the  villain  be  sarched. 

(Jeff  and  Steve  produce  from  Garcia 's  person  letters  addressed  to 
Mr.  Milton,  and  Mr.  Milton'' s  gold  watch.] 

STEVE.     Here  are  letters  to  Mr.  Milton's  address. 

JEFF.     And  here  is  Mr.  Milton's  gold  watch. 

MINERS.  Hang  him!  Hang  him  !  (2 hey  seize  Garcia  and  bear 
him  off,  led  by  Steve.) 

UNCLE  CHARLEY,  (Advancing  to  Bill.}  Bill,  my  old  friend,  this 
a'ar  mighty  fortinate.  I  knowed  it  'd  come  out  all  right  in  the 
eend.  Young  man,  (To  Errant.}  I  thank  yer  in  the  name  of  Mis- 
sourer  Bill  and  the  Commonwealth.  Court  a'ar  'journed  and  the 
prisoner  discharged.  Jeff,  hand  out  yer  lickers. 

SCENE  SECOND— Enter 

TIM  O'DoNNELL.  Me  bad  fortune  has  brought  me  to  the  dig- 
gins',  as  they  call  'em.  Be  me  sowl,  I  expected  to  pick  up  the 
goold  in  chunks,  and  instead,  there's  nothin'  but  tailin's.  (Pulling 
at  the  skirt  of  a  torn  coat.}  They  spoke  of  their  gravel  claims,  and 
bedad  the  gravel  has  a  claim  on  me,  for  the  sowls  of  me  boots  are  in 
holes.  And  thin  I  was  advised  to  go  into  a  dam  operation,  but  I'm 
dommed  if  I  found  any  comfort  in  thot.  It  was  a  coffer-dam,  built 
in  the  river  I  was  to  work  on,  and  I've  had  a  cough  ever  since  I 
undertook  it.  "  Och,"  said  they,  "  go  down  to  the  bed-rock,"  and 
it's  a  rock  that's  been  me  bed  for  a  two-week.  I  was  to  follow  the 
flume  down  to  the  flats,  and  hev  been  goin'  up  a  flume  since  I 
started  on  the  journey.  "  Ye'll  get  plenty  of  dust,"  they  said, 
and  me  brogans  show  that  I've  got  it.  Now,  I  know  what  I'll  do 
in  my  extremity.  Bedad,  Hillo  !  Here  comes  a  feller  runnin'  like 
a  scar't  hare.  What  the  divil's  the  matter  wid  ye? 

Enter 

TRIPPLETOPPER.  The  mob  is  out  in  its  wild  fury.  It  surge* 
this  way.  I  am  a  sworn  counsellor  of  the  law,  and  must  resist  it  at 


34  EARLST    CALIFORNIA. 

all  hazards.     Can  I  rely  upon  you  ?     Tell  me,  sir,  are  you  a  law 
and  order  man  ? 

TIM.     No  ;  I  am  an  Irishman. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.     Are  you  a  defender  of  mobocracy  ? 

TIM.     I  go  in  for  the  Democracy. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.  Do  you  hear  the  human  fiends  who  are  thirst 
ing  for  blood  ? 

TIM.  He  would  be  dafe  who  could  say  to  the  contrary.  What 
is  it  now,  that  alarms  ye  ? 

TRIPPLETOPPER.  They  have  seized  a  man  and  will  hang  him. 
But  I  will  oppose  them.  The  rabble  have  no  judgment,  and  are 
always  wrong.  To  me,  alone,  and  with  undaunted  resolution, 
shall  belong  the  task  of  dispersing  them  before  they  have  glutted 
their  vengeance. 

TIM.  Go  aisy,  now,  or  yer  own  neck  will  be  in  danger.  What 
can  ye  do  agin  them  chaps,  who  are  judge,  jury,  witnesses,  and 
coroner,  wid  their  verdict  made  up  !  Out  wid  ye,  and  avoid  thim. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.  Never  !  I  stand  as  the  representative  of  jus 
tice,  and  defender  of  the  law.  I  will  speak  to  them.  There  is  a 
terror  in  the  countenance  of  legal  majesty  that  must  awe  them  into 
obedience  and  respect.  Leave  me  if  your  courage  be  not  of  the 
Spartan  order.  I  am  Leonidas,  against  the  Greeks.  This  trail  is 
my  Thermopylae — this  tree  my  rock.  Here  I  place  myself  and  ex 
claim, 

The  frenzy  of  the  mob  shall  meet  a  stopper 
In  the  unaided  arm  of  Trippletopper. 

TIM.  Ye  will  do  well  to  take  my  advice,  Mr.  Lawyer,  and  go 
home  to  yer  bed.  A  little  slape  will  add  a  great  deal  to  yer  dis 
cretion. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.  Stand  back  !  They  approach  !  Give  me  room 
to  beard  them  ! 

TIM.  Jest  as  ye  plase  ;  but  I'm  afeard  the  dirils  will  lather  ye, 
before  they  submit  to  the  operation. 

(Enter  Mob  with  Garcia,  Steve  having  him  in  his  grip.} 

TRIPPLETOPPER.  Hold  !  ye  violators  of  the  law  !  What  would 
ye  do  ?  Disperse,  I  command  you  !  The  heavens  cry  out  against 
this  proceeding,  and  morality  forbids  it !  What !  Would  ye  take 
a  fellow-being's  life  without  trial  ?  Monstrous  !  Be  gone,  or  the 
statutes  shall  be  invoked  against  you !  I  command  the  public 
peace ! 

STEVE.  And  I  command  you  to  hold  your  tongue,  if  you  don't 
want  to  swing  with  him.  (Trippletopper  takes  refuge  behind  Tim.} 

TIM.  I  tould  ye  to  be  sparin'  of  yer  gab,  and  ye'd  better  be 
afther  lookin'  out  for  yer  own  safety. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.  Gentlemen,  this  must  not  go  on.  I  am  a 
sworn  officer  of  the  law,  and  I  forbid  it. 

STEVE.     Seize  him,  men,  and  we'll  dispose  of  the  pair  of  'em. 


EARLY    CALIFORNIA.  35 

TRIPPLETOPPER.  But,  my  worthy  friends,  I  beseech  you.  It 
was  only  my  duty.  I  pray  you,  mercy.  (Trfppletopper  is  seized.} 

STEVE.  Bring  him  along,  boys.  A  ducking  in  the  creek  will 
cool  his  ardor. 

TRIPPLETOPPER.     But — gentlemen !  gentlemen ! 

STEVE.  A  few  more  steps  will  bring  iis  in  sight  of  Mr.  Milton's 
cabin.  On  one  of  the  pines  near  its  door  this  wretch  shall  expiate 
his  crime.  (Exeunt  mob,  bearing  along  Garcia  and  Trippletopper .} 

TIM.  Howly  mercy  !  It's  a  poor  chance  a  mon  has  for  his  life 
wid  the  loikes  of  them.  I'm  satisfied  with  the  moines  intirely. 
It  may  be  my  turn  nixt.  The  thought  of  it  produces  a  strange 
sensation.  Ill  pay  me  bill  and  be  off.  And,  be  jabers,  that  can 
be  soon  settled  ;  for,  as  no  one  would  trust  me,  'and  I've  had  little 
to  ate,  the  score  will  be  aisly  reckoned.  But  I'll  comfort  meself 
wid  a  song  before  I  lave. 

SONG. 

Bedad,  I'm  in  trouble  ;  there  isn't  a  doubt  of  it  ; 

Here's  robbiii'  and  hangin'  men— all  in  a  joke. 
The  counthry  is  wild,  and  I'm  bound  to  get  out  of  it, 

Along  wid  them  chaps  that  they  call  the  "dead  broke." 

My  stomach  is  empty,  and  divil  a  cent  have  I ; 

No  credit,  nor  froiends  that  will  give  me  a  lift. 
Not  even  a  rasher,  or  fish,  or  a  steak  to  fry  ; 

And  that's  what  a  man  may  call  being  adrift. 

Goold-saMng  is  all  very  well,  if  yer  struck  wid  it ; 

Saking— but  finding  none,  go  where  ye  will  ; 
I'm  fra  to  confiss,  since  I've  had  little  luck  wid  it, 

Of  prospecting  for  diggings  I've  had  quite  a  fill. 

(Exit  Tim.} 

SCENE  THREE. — Outside  the  Post,  in  mew  of  mining  scene, 
with  falling  water.  Automatic  figures  of  ox-wagon  and  mule-train 
descending  mountain,  attended  by  Spanish  drivers  on  foot.  Miners 
at  work  with  picks,  shovels,  torn  'and  rocker.  Indians  and  China 
men  in  camp. 

Enter 

MISSOURI  BILL.  (Calling.}  Old  woman.  (Enter  Mrs.  Qrubbs.}  Is 
the  'rangements  all  made  Y  Things  a'ar  lookin'  a-splendid  ha'ar ; 
and  the  young  'uns  '11  have  a  merry  time  of  it. 

MRS.  GrRUBBS.  All  the  merrier  after  what  has  happened.  It 
was  a  blessed  circumstance  that  brought  the  young  man  along, 

BILL.  Git  things  in  order,  and  send  Jeff  a-ha'ar.  (Exit  Mrs. 
Gr-ubbs.}  He's  an  honest  lad,  and  must  know  it.  The  secret's  too 
wal'able  for  one  man  to  keep  ;  'ticklarly  when  that  man's  bin 
'spected  of  Mr.  Milton's  murder.  (Enter  Jeff.}  Jeff,  I  see  that 
ye'r  takin'  a  hankerin'  arter  the  gal.  Wa'al  that's  partickler  pro- 


36  EARLY   CALIFORNIA. 

per.  Ef  old  Bill  had  married  thar  might  now  be  some  one  to  take 
ca'ar  'o  him.  But  he's  a-like  that  Ingin  that  I've  hearn  tell  on, 
who  was  the  last  of  his  tribe.  Jeff,  things  hev  gone  smoothe  and 
prosperous  with  the  old  man  lately,  and  that's  an  idee  that  fetches 
danger.  When  one's  doin'  well,  thar's  inemies  to  watch  and  rob 
him.  See  how  it  wa'ar  with  Mr.  Milton.  Ef  Bill's  wind  should 
be  shet  suddently  off,  Jeff,  thar's  somethin'  consarns  his  honor  ye'r 
should  remember  and  act  out.  Thar's  a  bottle  in  the  corner  of  the 
topmost  shelf  of  the  cupboard  in  the  post,  and  it's  got  papers  in  it 
that  a'ar  wal'able.  Thar's  a  memorandy  that  consarns  Mr.  Mil 
ton's  affairs,  and  one  coucarnin'  mine,  and  maybe  your'n  also,  ef 
ye'r  do  the  squa'ar  thing  in  takin'  a-charge  of  it.  Ef  Bill  should 
pipe  out,  the  bottle's  to  be  carried  to  a  Mr.  Quod,  at  'Frisco. 
You'll  fiijd  him  by  a-askin'  of  that  young  man  who  captured  the 
Spanish  robber.  Mind,  Jeff,  thar's  to  be  no  examinin'  of  the  bottle's 
contents — >no  breakin'  of  the  cork  to  find  out  what's  in  it.  Take 
it  straight  wha'ar  it  belongs,  and  old  Bill's  speret  will  bless  ye'er. 
Ef  ye'er  fail,  it  '11  hant  ye'er,  Jeff,  it  '11  hant  ye'er.  Thar— I  know  it 
'11  be  all  right.  Go  into  the  post  and  receive  the  gals  that  a'ar 
a-arrivin'  to  'tend  the  party.  (Exit  Jeff.}  'Tw'ar  a  hard  thing  to 
trust  that  a'ar  secret  out  'o  my  keepin'.  But  it  hed  to  be  done.  And 
the  boy's  honest,  He'll  do  right.  I  b'lieve  it.  I  b'lieve  it.  (Enter 
Uncle  Charley,  Errant,  miners,  women,  etc.]  Boys  and  gals,  I'm 
ra'al  slap  up  glad  to  see  ye'r.  (Shakes  hands  all  round.} 

STEVE.     Three  cheers  for  Bill.     (Cheers  given.) 

BILL.  Thank  ye'er  friends.  Thank  ye'er  all  kindly.  Now  to  en 
joy  yerselves.  That's  what  I  invited  ye'er  a-he'ar  for. 

ALL.     A  song  !     A  soag  1 

STEVE.     Yes,  a  song  from  Mr.  Errant. 

ALL.     A  song  from  Mr.  Errant !     A  song  ! 

EHRANT.  Well,  though  not  much  of  a  singer,  I'll  try  and  en 
tertain  you  with  something  appropriate.  (Sings.) 

Miners'    Chorus. 

Gold,  gold,  in  the  days  of  old, 

When  mankind  lived  for  glory, 
It  shaped  the  dream,  and  formed  the  theme 

Of  many  a  knightly  story; 
But  they  who  hoarded  never  felt 
The  voiceless  thrill  of  pleasure 
That  glows  within  the  miner's  heart 
As  he  unearths  the  treasure. 
(Repeat  two  last  lines.) 

Gold,  gold,  in  the  gravel  bed, 

The  river  bank  and  mountain— 
That  shows  its  gleam  in  the  running  stream 

Of  the  canyon's  deepest  fountain. 
We  seek  it  where  the  tunnel's  drift 

Has  pierced  the  hardest  granite, 
And  from  the  sands,  with  hardened  hands, 

It  is  our  joy  to  pan  it.— (Repeat,  etc.) 


EARLY   CALIFORNIA.  37 

Gold,  gold,  to  the  banker's  vault, 

And  miser's  clutch  we  send  it; 
If  they're  content  with  their  per  cent. 

We're  satisfied  to  spend  it. 
Then  let  us  live  a  jolly  life, 

With  fondness  for  each  other, 
And  offer  prayers  for  him  who  shares 

His  earnings  with  a  brother. — (Repeat,  etc.) 

A  Dance. — Automatic  pony  descends  mountain  on  a  gallop. 
Enter  natural  horse  and  rider  with  letter  mail.  Rider  distributes 
letters,  and  exit  horse  mid  rider. 

PRESTON.  (Slightly  intoxicated.}  Boys,  after  the  ball's  over, 
there'll  be  a  game  in  the  post. 

BILL.     No  thar  won't. 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.  That  a'ar  right,  Bill.  No  gamin'  to- 
mght. 

PRESTON.  (Approacfiing  Uncle  Charley.}  What  have  you  got 
to  say  about  it? 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.  Perpriety's  agin  it,  and  law's  with  per- 
priety. 

PRESTON.  I  came  here  for  sport,  and  I'm  bound  to  have  it. 
Here's  one  will  go  with  me.  (Taking  hold  of  Maggie.} 

MAGGIE.    Not  much. 

PRESTON.     But  you  will,  though. 

BILL.  Let  go  the  gal,  or  I'D.  brain  you.  (Seizes  and  throws 
Preston  aside.} 

PRESTON.  Now,  look  here,  Bill ;  you  know  me,  and  when  I 
start  in  I'm  going  to  have  my  fun  or  a  muss. 

BILL.  Ya'as ;  I  know  ye'er  to  be  a  quarrelsome  ruffin.  But 
I'll  have  none  of  yer  capers  a-ha'er. 

ALL.     Put  him  out !     Put  him  out ! 

PRESTON.     I'd  like  to  know  who'll  attempt  to  put  me  out  ? 

JEFF.     (Advancing.}    I  will  ! 

PRESTON.  Ah  !  You  will,  will  you?  (A  scuffle  between  Pres 
ton  and  Jeff  .  Bill  seizes  Preston,  and  a  struggle.  Preston  draws 
and  stabs  BiU  who  falls.) 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.  I  command  the  peace.  God  a-mercy,  Bill ! 
A'ar  you  hurt  ? 

BILL.  Finished,  I'm  afeard.  (A  rush,  and  cry  of  "hang  him  ! 
Hang  him!"  Preston  is  borne  off  by  miners.}  But  the  boy's  safe. 
I've  got  it  a-ha'er.  (Putting  his  hand  to  his  breast.}  It  a'ar  all 
up  with  me.  Whar  a'ar  the  boy.)  (Jeff  kneels  over  Bill.}  Jeff,  a 
word — the  bottle — persarve  it — cling  to  it.  Remember  the  name — 
Quod.  Mr.  Milton — ye'er  know — -the — rest.  (Dies.} 

MRS.  GRUBBS.     O,  goody,  goody  I 


38  EARLY    CALIFORNIA. 


ACT    Y. 

SCENE  ONE.— Parlor  in  Oriental  Hotel.     Carlotta  discovered. 
Knttr  Errant. 

CARLOTTA.  I  have  heard  all,  sir,  and  am  resigned  to  my  con 
dition.  The  murder  of  my  dear  father  makes  me  indeed  an  orphan, 
in  a  strange  land — withoiit  means — friendless  and  forsaken. 

ERRANT.     Not  so  bad  as  that,  Miss  Milton. 

CARLOTTA.  Pardon  me,  sir ;  I  had  overlooked  your  kindness.  I 
will  not  say  friendless,  with  you  to  protect,  and  your  good  counsel 
to  direct  me.  I  may  still  rely  upon  you ;  may  I  not  ? 

ERRANT.  When  the  heart  is  stricken  it  is  natural  that  it  should 
misdoubt.  There  is  no  sorrow  you  feel  I  cannot  appreciate  and 
share.  Let  your  emotions  find  vent  in  tears ;  and  when  the  de 
mands  of  filial  affection  have  been  fully  met,  arouse  to  a  calm  con 
sideration  of  circumstances  as  you  find  them.  You  are  bereaved — 
doubly  so  in  the  loss  of  those  who  were  so  near  to  you  within  so 
brief  a  period  of  time.  But  your  parents  were  both  aged,  and  in 
their  departure  merely  anticipated  by  a  few  years  the  fate  of  our 
common  mortality.  With  you  it  is  far  otherwise.  Your  youth  is 
in  its  most  favorable  bloom.  Look  around  you.  The  earth  is 
bright  and  beautiful — its  enjoyments  all  inviting.  Be  cheered. 
The  past  can  never  be  recalled,  and  time  will  compensate  for  pres 
ent  grief.  It  is  to  the  future  you  must  look — not  depending 
upon  chance  alone  to  direct  your  movements,  but  molding  every 
favorable  event  to  your  advantage. 

CARLOTTA.  O,  sir,  these  are  exalted  sentiments  from  a  generous 
mind.  They  inspire  me  with  a  courage  which  I  am  eager  to  put 
to  the  test.  My  father  could  not  have  been  without  means.  His 
letters  were  all  encouraging.  He  had  no  enemies.  His  nature  was 
too  gentle  for  that.  Murdered !  That  fearful  word  reveals  the 
whole  story.  Bobbery  must  have  been  the  motive  of  the  crime. 
His  slayers,  no  doubt,  despoiled  him,  and  I  am  left  a  bankrupt  in 
everything  but  reputation  and  my  strong  resolution. 

ERRANT.  California  contains  a  big-hearted  people.  You  shall 
be  their  ward,  in  a  position  becoming  your  dignity  and  their 
generosity.  But,  Miss  Milton,  there  is  a  secret  in  my  heart  if  I 
dared  give  utterance  to  it.  And  why  not  ?  No  time  so  appropriate 
as  the  present.  To  retain  it  longer  would  be  to  do  injustice  to  my 
own  feelings  and  your  condition.  I  love  you.  Say  that  I  have 
offended,  and  my  lips  are  sealed  on  this  subject  forever.  (Carlotta 
falls  upon  Ms  breast. )  An  inward  monitor  whispered  I  was  right. 
The  title  of  wife  to  an  honorable  man  is  at  once  a  woman's  glory 
and  a  shield  to  her  reputation.  Come  dearest,  my  only  exchequer 
is  my  honest  industry.  In  that  shall  lie  the  assurance  of  our  future 
happiness  and  fortune.  We  will  encounter  the  great  world  to- 


EARLY    CALIFORNIA.  39 

get  her,  and   together  conquer  its  vicissitudes,  or  failing,  fall  to 
gether.     (Exit,  leading  Carlotta.} 

SCENE    TWO.— A   Street— Enter 

TIM  O'DoNNELL.  'Twas  a  narry  escape  that  I  had  in  the  Page 
and  Bacon  affair.  But  good  was  in  it.  The  Chafe  of  Polace  took 
howld  of  me  as  I  come  out  av  the  doore.  "What  are  ye  doin'  wid 
thotax?"  sez  he.  "Sez  I,  it's  the  one  I  took  from  the  spalpeen 
that  was  goin'  to  break  in  the  door."  "Was  it  thotway?"  sez  he. 
"Bedad  and  it  was,"  sez  I.  "Then  yer  in  a  fairway  for  promotion 
on  the  polace,"  sez  he.  And  when  I  come  down  from  the  mines 
I  went  to 'the  headquarters  of  the  poiiticianers  and  got  a  recommin- 
dation  from  Mike,  and  that  was  the  way  of  it.  I  was  enrouled,  as 
they  call  it,  and  now  I'm  one  of  tham  reglars,  supportin'  the  mace 
of  office. 

Enter 

COATES.  (Aside.}  She  shall  not  escape  me  thus  !  Once  in  pos 
session  of  the  papers,  and  she  is  at  my  mercy.  It  will  be  easy  to 
blacken  her  name  and  discredit  her  testimony,  should  she  discover 
their  existence  and  make  an  attempt  to  reclaim  them.  But  that  is 
impossible.  The  deeds  are  all  regular,  and  a  sale  of  the  property 
can  readily  be  effected.  With  the  proceeds  I  will  at  once  get  out  of 
the  country ',  and  then,  let  the  hounds  bay  as  they  will  upon  my 
track. 

TIM.  (Aside.}  This  looks  loike  a  case  that  demands  the  inter- 
farence  of  the  polace.  (Aloud.}  What  are  ye  muttering  about 
there  ?  The  circumstance  looks  suspicious,  and  yer  face  affords  no 
great  security  for  yer  honesty.  Ye'd  better  move  on. 

COATES.  My  good  man,  are  you  acquainted  with  a  gentleman 
named  Quod  ? 

TIM.  Do  I  know  him  !  And  is  there  a  politician — an  officer  on 
the  polace,  I  mane — that  don't  know  him  ? 

COATES.     Then  you  can  direct  me  to  his  office  ? 

TIM.     I  can  do  thot,  but  ye  won't  find  him  th^ere. 

COATES.  Will  you  be  good  enough,  my  respected  friend,  to  tell 
me  where  he  can  be  found  ? 

TIM.  (Aside.}  Respected  friend !  That  conies  of  bein'  in  au 
thority.  (Aloud.}  Be  jabers,  it  would  be  hard  to  do  thot,  for  he's 
been  gone  from  the  city  this  two  weeks. 

COATES.  (Aside.}  Nothing  could  have  fallen  out  better.  The 
victory  seems  already  within  my  grasp.  (Aloud.}  And  the  di 
rection,  my  good  sir. 

TIM.     Follow  down  the  street.     I'll  be  wid  ye  in  a  minute. 

COATES.  Thanks,  my  worthy  city  guardian.  A  trifle  for  your 
information.  (Slips  money  in  Tim's  hand,  and  exit.) 

TIM.  Och,  murther  !  What's  this !  Is  it  a  bribe  he  would  be 
afther  givin'  me  !  Here — (making  a  feint  to  call.)  But  it's  not 


40  EARLY   CALIFORNIA. 

for  me  he  intended  it.     It  belongs  to  the  city  Treasury,  and  I'll 
just  drop  it  into  me  pocket  until  there's  a  demand  for  it.     (Exit.) 

Enter — Jeff,  Uncle    Charley  and  Maggie. 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.  Them  hashes  at  the  What  Cheer  swells  a 
man  perdigiously.  By  the  Lord,  Jeff,  I'm  ten  pound  heavier  than 
I  wa'ar  this  mo  rain'. 

JEFF.     It  were  the  dried  apples  and  the  barley  in  the  coffee. 

MAGGIE.     Have  you  got  the  picture  safe,  Jeff  r* 

JEFF.     Yes;  all  right,  Maggie. 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.     The  'tectives  can  make  good  use  of  that. 

JEFF.  But  there's  somethin'  here  (holding  up  bottle]  of  more  im 
portance. 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.     A'ar  ye  sure  we're  on  the  right  street  ? 

JEFF.     Yes  ;  I  know  it.     Come  along. 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.  I'm  stiff  in  the  knee-pans,  and  ev'ry  jint  has 
an  ache.  If  this  had  bin  consarnin'  the  affairs  of  any  one  but  Mr. 
Milton,  I'd  a-seen  him  to  the  devil  afore  I'd  a-rode  a  mule  eighty 
mile  across  the  mountains  to  attend  to  'em.  The  innards  of  a  cor 
pus  of  two  hundred  and  forty  pounds  is  a  little  too  much  to  be 
shuck  up  in  that  kind'er  style  without  a  recompense. 

SCENE  THREE.— The  Editorial  office—Enter 

ERRANT.  Fortes  fortuna  jitvatf  (with  spirit  and  good  accent.} 
I  have  found  an  angel  for  my  house  ;  now  to  procure  a  house  fof 
my  angel.  (A  rap.)  Enter. 

Enter  TIM.     Sure,  Mr.  Arrant,  and  I'm  glad  to  see  ye. 

ERRANT.     You  are  welcome,  Tim. 

TIM.  A  gintleman  at  the  door  has  business  wid  ye.  For  the 
matter  o'  that,  I've  somethin1  to  say  to  ye  myself;  but  I'm  in  no 
hurry,  and  can  wait. 

ERRANT.  Ah,  very  well.  Step  into  the  next  room,  Mr. 
Q'Donnell.  I'll  attend  to  you  presently.  (Exit  lim.} 

Enter 

COATES.     Have  I  the  pleasure  of  addressing  the  editor? 

ERRANT.  Only  a  lieutenant,  sir.  The  editor-in-chief  is  absent. 
Can  I  serve  yoti  ? 

COATES.  A  few  weeks  ago  my  father  left  a  box  in  the  care  of 
Mr.  Quod.  He  also  is  absent.  I  have  directions  from  him  to  obtain 
it,  and  transmit  to  him  certain  papers  which  it  contains. 

ERRANT.  (Aside.)  There  i»  something  about  this  man's  voice 
and  manner  that  seem  familiar.  (Aloud,)  It  was  I  who  became 
the  custodian  of  the  box.  (Writing.)  Here,  Bob!  (Enter  boy.) 
Take  this  note  (folding  paper)  to  the  publication  office,  and  get  what 
it  calls  for. 

COATES.  Don't  go  to  any  trouble,  sir.  Give  me  the  order, 
(reaching  for  it,  hastily)  and  I  will  attend  to  the  affair  myself. 


EARLY    CALIFORNIA.  41 

ERRANT.  (Tearing  the  note.)  On  second  thought,  I  will  go  my 
self.  (Exeunt  Errant  and  boy.) 

COATES,  Unfortunate  conclusion  !  My  eager  hand  would  have 
clutched  the  paper.  Can  he  suspect  ?  Impossible  !  The  disguise 
was  too  perfect.  Coolness  and  audacity  are  now  my  only  depen 
dence.  (Takes  up  a  newspaper.)  Here  it  is  again.  "Horrible 
Murder  in  the  Mines  !  ' '  "Will  these  and  similar  startling  capitals 
forever  confront  me?  Take  up  a  paper  when  or  where  I  will,  it  is 
always  the  same.  A  curse  on  all  newspapers  and  those  who  conduct 
them  1  Would  that  the  torch  of  the  incendiary  were  applied  to 
every  printing  office  in  the  land.  A  fatality  seems  to  attend  this 
visit.  Why,  otherwise,  should  a  policeman  thrust  himself  into  my 
company,  and  have  business  at  the  same  office  ?  The  enterprise  de 
pends  Upon  a  favorable  conclusion  only  from  the  Fates. 

(Re -enter  Errant,     Codies  reaches  eagerly  for  the  box.} 

ERRANT.  (Drawing  it  back.)  Not  so.  (Calls.)  Mr.  O'Donnell  I 
(Enter  Tim.)  You  may  be  needed  as  a  witness  here.  Sir,  (turning 
to  Coates)  as  I  am  assuming  the  responsibility  to  act  for  another,  it 
is  proper  an  officer  of  the  law  should  be  present.  We  will  open  the 
box  and  examine  its  contents. 

COATES.  It  is  useless  to  occupy  your  time  by  an  inspection.  They 
are  deeds  to  real  estate  in  the  city.  Doubtless  your  information  is 
to  the  same  effect. 

ERRANT.  But  there  will  be  some  letter  of  explanation.  (A  rap.) 
Come  in.  (Enter  Jeff,  Uncle  Charley  and  Maggie.  Errant  shakes 
hand#  all  round.)  Ah,  my  mountain  friends  ;  delighted  to  see  you. 
Be  seated.  (Offering  chairs.)  And  now,  (turning  to  Coates)  we  will 
explore  the  mysteries  of  the  box. 

COATES.     Well,  sir  ;  proceed,  if  you  will  have  it  so. 

ERRANT.  (Opening  box.)  Here  are  valuable  deeds,  as  you  have 
stated,  sir. 

JEFF.  (Who  has  been  eyeing  Coates  closely,  to  Uncle  Charley,} 
Why,  that's  the  other  covey  who  slept  in  the  post  the  night  of  the 
murder, 

ERRANT.  (Continuing  his  examination.}  And  here  is  a  note  of 
instructions,  with  a  postscript  that  reads  :  "  Deliver  the  papers  to 
my  wife,  or,  in  her  absence,  to  Carlotta^  my  only  child."  And  it 
is  signed — great  Heavens  I — "  ROBERT  MILTON  1  " 

JEFF.  (Handing  Errant  a  picture.)  And  that's  one  of  the  chaps 
that  killed  him  1 

ERRANT.  Robert  Milton,  Carlotta's  father!  And  this  villain, 
(Coates  makes  a  movement  towards  Errant,  but  is  seized  by  Tim,} 
whose  hands  are  imbrued  in  his  blood,  would  also  ruin  and  rob  his 
daughter.  Was  ever  infamy  so  profound  ! 

COATES.  The  accusation  of  that  base  hound  is  false  I  I  know- 
nothing  of  the  killing  he  speaks  of.  I  demand  the  deeds  I  They 
are  mine  by  right  of  justice  and  law 


42  EARLY   CALIFORNIA. 

ERRANT.  Law  you  shall  have  to  your  heart's  content.  This  pic 
ture  corroborates  the  accusation.  I  am  acquainted  with  the  boy,  and 
the  circumstances  under  which  he  obtained  it.  The  resemblance  is 
exact. 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.  This  orter  have  'curred  in  my  jurisdiction. 
Them  legs  would  'er  dangled  beautifully  among  the  pine  shadders. 

COATES.  Again  I  say,  deliver  me  the  deeds.  This  is  a  trick  to 
deprive  me  of  my  rights.  There  is  no  woman  in  the  case.  (Enter 
Dr.  Amherst,  leading  Carlotta.)  The  Carlotta  mentioned  is  a  myth  . 
and  if  any  woman  passes  herself  off  by  that  name,  she  is  an  imposter; 

ERRANT.     Behold  the  woman,  and  ask  her  to  deny  her  identity  ! 

COATES.  Foiled !  and  the  game  is  up !  But  your  jails  shall 
never  hold  me,  nor  your  courts  try  me  !  My  life  has  been  desper 
ate,  and  so  shall  be  my  end  !  (Stabs  himself,  is  cauqlit  and  borne  o$ 
by  Tim.} 

JEFF.  May  it  please  you,  sir,  there's  somethin'  to  come  yet.  Mis 
souri  Bill  left  this  bottle,  which  I  were  to  deliver  into  the  hands  of 
the  edditer  hisself  ;  but  as  you  are  actin'  for  him,  I  s'pose  it's  all  the 
same. 

ERRANT.  (Uncorking  the  bottle,  and  emptying  out  papers.}  This 
paper  describes  where  thirty  thousand  dollars  in  gold  dust,  that  be 
longed  to  Mr.  Milton,  lie  buried.  And  what  is  this  ?  ( Unfolding 
a  scrap  of  soiled  paper.}  "  Jeff  air  my  a'ar."  Signed,  "  MISSOURER 
BILL." 

UNCLE  CHARLEY.     It  means  that  the  boy's  to  inherit  the  post. 

JEFF.  There's  another  thing  I  were  to  tell  you.  Missouri  Bill 
owed  Mr.  Milton  six  thousand  dollars,  and  its  to  be  charged  agin 
his  estate. 

DR.  AMHERST.  This  seems  day  of  discovery  as  well  as  of  retri 
bution.  Let  me  also  add  a  chapter  to  Miss  Carlotta' a  good  fortune. 
Her  father,  when  last  in  the  city,  entrusted  me  with  a  commission, 
which  I  have  discharged.  A  furnished  mansion  awaits  her,  when 
she  chooses  to  occupy  it,  with  the  title  of  ownership  secured,  and  a 
balance  standing  to  her  credit  in  the  bank. 

CARLOTTA.  O,  if  this  news  brings  joy  to  my  soul,  it  is  because 
there  is  now  one  to  share  my  good  fortune,  more  dear  to  me  than  the 
fortune  itself. 

ERRANT.  (laking  Carlotta  by  hand,  and  all  to  front.}  A  sky 
that  is  overcast  may  still  have  golden  gleamings.  In  thy  case,  Car 
lotta,  the  storm  is  past,  and  the  day  breaks  with  transcendant 
glory. 

THE  END. 


COSTUMES. 


ERRANT. — Black  coat,  silk  hat  and  white  vest,  in  office  and  par 
lor  scenes.  Cap,  boots  outside  of  pants,  and  sack  coat  in  mines. 

MISSOURI  BILL. — Slouch  hat,  soiled  red  flannel  shirt,  buckskin  coat 
and  pants. 

COATES. — "With  cloak,  well  dressed  otherwise,  and  when  disguised, 

with  mustache  and  black  whiskers. 
MANUEL  GARCIA. — Broad-brimmed  hat  with  wide  band ;  short  blue 

jacket  with  brass  buttons  ;  red  sash  as  girdle  ;  blue  cloth  pants 

fringed  down  legs ;  with  large  Mexican  spurs ;  handle  of  knife 

visible  on  left  hip  or  in  right  boot-leg. 
UNCLE  CHARLEY. — Large  as  Ealstaff,  with  ordinary  dress. 
MR.  MILTON. — A  venerable  man ;  long  gray  beard  ;  well  dressed 

in  black. 
JEFF. — Check  shirt,  with  narrow  ribbon  for  cravat ;  pants,  but  no 

vest ;  bare-headed,  except  in  moonlight  scene  with  Maggie. 
TRIPPLETOPPER. — Black  coat  with  long  skirts ;  red  nose ;  specta 
cles  ;  white  hat. 
DR.    AMHERST. — A   dignified   gentleman,   respectably  dressed   in 

black. 
TIM  O'DONNELL. — Seedy  until  promoted  on  police  ;  then  cap  with 

suit  of  gray. 
MIKE. — A  short  sack  coat  with  side  pockets ;  hat,  broad-brimmed  ; 

carries  whip. 

MR.  JONES. — A  suit  of  black. 
STEVE  RIPPLES. — A  buckskin  shirt  without  collar  or  cravat ;  also 

buckskin  pants  ;  bare-headed. 

MINERS. — In  dingy  cher^   ova-  —  J 


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